Eram quod es, eris quod sum
by Random Houses
Summary: CROSSOVER, Torchwood/House/Doctor Who/others. Slash&het. An epic involving alien invasions, explosions, hallucinations, lots of crack, angst, a carnivorous car trunk, pirates, and fanged mushrooms. No one is having a good day, especially not Gwen.
1. Title Page&Story Info

**Story info and title page**

This fanfiction is cowritten by two authors and primarily posted at randomhouses . livejournal . com. There is more detailed information there, including extras like images, character info, and silly summaries. Also, updates there tend to happen quicker than here.

**Basic story info**:

A _House_, _Torchwood_, _Doctor Who_, _Discworld_, Nintendo/_Super Smash Bros._, _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_, _Pirates of the Caribbean_, _Labyrinth_, _Verbotene Liebe_, _Robin Hood_ and other cameo universes (eg _Harry Potter_, _Red Dwarf_, _Starcraft_, _2001: A Space Odyssey_, etc.) cross-over.

**Warnings**: None as of yet. Unless crack counts as a warning. Maybe mild slash? It's hard to have Jack without it. Oh, and spoilers, lots of spoilers for all the shows. Some minor violence.

**Rating**: R. Contains violence, language, sexual innuendo, and adult themes (no, get your mind out of the gutter!).

**"Pairings"**: Well, we'll see! There are no boundaries. But this is primarily NOT a romance fic. All canon pairings will probably be kept. Not that there really are many. Currently contains or will contain Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Owen, and Jack/Ten. And Ten/Screwdriver. Yeah. And Cameron/Owen, Chase/Cameron, Two/Jamie, Jamie/Adric (no, really!_... well, apparently not..._), Bilis/Gwen, Bilis/Abaddon, Bilis/Rhys, Rhys/Suzie, Suzie/Glove, Glove/Hand, Suzie/Hand, Glove/Hand/Resurrected Goldish, Chase/House (sorta), Chase/Wilson (sorta), Cameron/House (sorta), Gwen/Foreman (_what? ew!_), Rhys/Gwen, Rhys/Myfanwy (_headdesk_), Toshiko/Owen, Sarah Jane/Adric, House/Wilson, Jack/House/Wilson, Carrot/Angua, Wilson/Mrs. Palm, Sybil/Vimes, Five/Adric(?), Tosh/Brenda, Wilson/Brenda, Tosh/OC(Monty), Cuddy/Ianto, Jack/Elizabeth, Will/Elizabeth, Jack/House/Wilson/Cuddy, Christian/Olli, Robin/Much, Robin/Marian, Marian/Guy, Will(Scarlett)/Djaq, Marian/Cuddy.

**Timelines:**

**House-verse**: Post-Tritter, pre-"Insensitive".

**Torchwood-verse**: Post-season 1, pre-season 2, technically post-Doctor Who series 3 but does not follow "Last of the Time Lord" canon.

**Who-verse**: **Ten**: post-series 2? 3? Sorta post-series 3 but ignores most of series 3 continuity. **Five**: Sometime in season 20 or 21 (companions are Tegan and Turlough). **Four**:Assume spoilers through season 13 (companion is Sarah Jane). **Two**: Takes place during season 6B, so assume spoilers for everything (companion is Jamie). Also assume spoilers for seasons 18 and 19.

**Disc-verse**: Definitely assume spoilers for _Guards! Guards!_, _Men at Arms_, _Feet of Clay_, _Jingo_, _The Fifth Elephant_, _Night Watch_, _Mort_, _The Truth_, _Hogfather_, _Soul Music_, _Thief of Time_, _Going Postal_, and probably more.

**Pirates of the Caribbean-verse**: Post-_At World's End_ but disregards the post-credits sequence ten years later.

**Nintendo/Smash Bros.**: Post-Brawl but ignores Subspace Emissary. I mean, really, is there actually anything continuity related? Oh, well, I guess I (Suninos) should admit I haven't played any _Fire Emblem_, so all those characters are just... not at all related to the games. Mario continuity is largely kept. And... that's about it.

**Labyrinth-verse**: Probably takes place before the events of the movie but doesn't contradict it.

**Robin Hood**: Spoilers for season one, will probably AU after that.

**This fic was begun in March of 2007. All new episodes and books published after that date are disregarded by the fic (EDIT: This may or may not be the case for s4 of DW). The story therefore now falls into the category of Alternate Universe. Events of Arcs 2, 3, and 4 will be entirely AU and changes the course of series histories. Therefore, certain episodes of old-_Who_ and season 3 _House_ are also disregarded.**

ALL of the above is subject to revision.

The shows, books, locations, and characters are the property of David Shore, Fox, BBC, Russell T. Davies, Terry Pratchett, the Douglas Adams estate, Nintendo, Konami, Sega, and other relevant persons and companies and we are making no profit whatsoever from this random adventure into the realms of crack!fic, so please don't sue us.

**Eram quod es, eris quod sum**

Writers: Muskratio and Suninos

_"I was what you are,_

_you will be what I am."_

_-Grave inscription_

He ran. The cold steel pounded against the soles of his boots, ringing out one metallic _thump_ after another, the dirge of the hammer striking a nail into a coffin lid, the moan of the bells rocking back and forth in a distant clock tower. Everyone was dead. _Everyone_, through all the universe and all of time.

_What is the price?_ she'd asked him. _Is it worth it?_ And even now, with burning tears streaming down his face, he didn't know. He'd been given the choice between an eternity of slavery and an eternity that never was, and he couldn't decide. How could anyone? How could he choose for every innumerable soul through all of existence, for people he'd never known, faces he'd never seen? Even worse, how did he choose for the ones forever seared into his memory?

Ianto Jones ran, not for his life but because he could think of nothing else to do. Because the void was coming, and it would take him like it'd taken the Doctor and Tosh and Cameron and Foreman. Like it'd taken all of them. Like it'd taken Jack, his immortal Jack whom he'd sent to his death.

The darkness spread, the echoes of screams surrounded him. All the choices, all the lies, all the hatred. And though he knew it was false, he could not forget the moments he'd spent before those burning eyes in that chamber of glittering, mocking emerald towers. For a few seconds, with all of history laid bare before him, the futility of life had been so obvious…

…and that was the point.

The eyes, so focused on themselves, had never looked outward.

He'd been so scared, but that was the whole point.

Ianto stopped running. He turned and faced the nothingness. He looked it in the eye, and he laughed at it.

"You can take it all away, but I still remember. Right now, I remember everything. And it happened. All of it happened. All of history, it came around once, and it can come again and doesn't that make you angry? Doesn't that make you feel small? You can wipe everything from existence, but all you'll do is kill yourself too, and somewhere out there, sometime, somehow, another universe will blossom, and life will come into being once more, and things will survive."

And that was all that mattered. You were born, and you lived, and you died, and everything in between was trivial, a brief, flickering match in the night, but it was _real_, and that made all the difference. It was all that mattered, and the thought didn't scare him anymore. He laughed, and he ran, but this time, he knew where he was going. His feet moved with purpose, and nothing would stop him. He was going to find House.


	2. Prologue: Sex With Owen Kills

**Prologue**

**Sex (with Owen) Kills**

A Vicodin pill arced through the air, spinning in time to the ticking of the clock on the wall. Five point three seconds later, it was safely home in the stomach of Doctor Gregory House, followed by its friend another five point three seconds later. Wilson might consider this an obsession, but House preferred to think of it as reducing life to a science.

It was getting late and House was contemplating sleep. There wasn't anything good on TV, and he was finally beginning to feel tired anyway. The only thing keeping him up was his leg, which was threatening to complain if he attempted a relocation.

He put it off for a few more minutes and then, sighing, hauled himself off his nice, comfortable couch to begin the long journey to the bathroom. He'd brushed his teeth and had just finished changing when he heard a strange noise from the living room. He barely hesitated before grabbing his cane from where it had been propped by his side and, gripping it tightly, made his way slowly to the source of the noise. He noticed nothing suspicious off the bat, so he crept as quietly as he could manage into the living room. Still, he couldn't spot anything that might have made such a sound. After a not-so-thorough search of the immediate vicinity, he decided he didn't care enough and went to bed.

The next morning House woke, got ready as usual, and was about to leave when something on the floor by the piano caught his eye. Curious, he picked it up and examined it. It was small enough to fit easily in his palm. It was grey and oval-shaped, and there was a small square of a slightly lighter shade in the center, but other than that it was unmarked and he couldn't find anything that might be a clue as to what it was. He couldn't remember ever seeing it before. 

Though curious, he decided to examine it further at the hospital. He slipped it into his jacket pocket and exited.

"He's late!" Cameron exclaimed angrily, pacing in front of the table, at which was seated House's other two minions. 

"It's not like we have a case right now." Foreman shrugged. Chase didn't even bother to look up from his crossword. Cameron gave them a ruffled glare.

"It's the principle of it! He shouldn't be late to work so often." She didn't get a response, so she returned to pacing. Both were used to Cameron's periodic dissatisfied fits. About five uneventful minutes later, Wilson walked in and paused, looking mildly disappointed.

"Is House not in yet?" he asked. Cameron opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by House himself, who entered directly behind Wilson.

"I've been following you since you left your office and you didn't notice!" he admonished his friend, who rolled his eyes. 

"Where have you been?" Cameron asked angrily. House raised an eyebrow at her.

"That time of the month again, Cameron? I was just getting some beauty sleep! You know how I need my rest so I can be just as bright and chipper in the mornings as you lot!"

Cameron fumed as Foreman cut in, his voice hopeful.

"Got a new case?" he inquired as House made himself comfortable. Wilson moved toward the coffee.

"Do you see me carrying a file?" Foreman raised a questioning eyebrow. "Cuddy'll drag one up sooner or later," House added, not sounding particularly enthusiastic.

Foreman adopted a cross look and stood. "Right, then. I'm going to go see if they need some help in neurology, since I'm apparently not needed here." He strode out without waiting for a response. Wilson took his vacated seat as House snatched Chase's crossword out of his hands.

"Hey! That's mine!" Chase cried.

"Not anymore it's not," House responded, taking advantage of Chase's diverted attention to steal his pencil as well. Cameron made a disgruntled sound and left the room, looking exasperated and not bothering to say where she was going. Wilson was moving his chair so he could get a look at the puzzle and Chase was about to attempt another (inevitably futile) protest when House caught sight of Doctor Cuddy, looking mildly harassed and running past the room with as much speed as her ridiculously high heels allowed. Tucking the paper into his jacket, House quickly stood and rushed out of the room, not even hearing Chase calling after him.

Once out in the hall, House opted for yelling Cuddy's name instead of trying to keep up with her, a feat that would probably have been impossible. She glanced back, shot him an annoyed look, and didn't bother to wait for him. More than a little peeved but still interested in what might have the Dean of Medicine running around so frantically, he limped after her. The faint sound of yelling from the floor below preceded the not-so-faint--and significantly more interesting--sound of shattering glass.

House grinned. Ah, potential entertainment.

He took the elevator to the first floor, took a moment to take in the chaos, and used his cane to help push through the crowd of doctors surrounding an unconscious young woman. Standing amidst the broken glass, he noticed a young man in a suit with a horribly green tie that reminded him of Wilson and a stunned expression that reminded him of Cameron the day he used her stethoscope as part of a demonstration to explain to an eighteen-year-old clinic patient how babies were made. He also noted that Foreman and Cameron had already shown up and were helping get the woman onto a gurney. He wasn't interested in her. People fainted all the time, especially in hospitals; that wasn't entertaining. He was interested in the broken glass and finding out exactly what had happened. After all, it was a hospital. The drama that happened here could often be better than anything on TV.

For once, Ianto Jones mused, Americans were right; New Jersey really _was_ the armpit of America. A faint drizzle had been falling when they left the Newark airport, the sort that made everything humid and sticky without ever actually seeming to rain. It also refused to let up. Meanwhile, the car smelled disturbingly of deodorant, though he suspected that might be Owen.

Thunder rumbled behind storm clouds grey and foreboding, dull as the sheen of a cyberman's armor, cold metal encasing burning flesh. Ianto shuddered. Best not to think about it, not if he wanted to stay professional. _Funny, the difference half a year makes._ The thought of pushing Lisa out of his mind would've been unforgivable in the months after her death, but it was hard to deny the truth, the fact that the Lisa he'd pulled out of Torchwood One had been, in fact, just another cyberman. _No, never that._ But not Lisa.

"Bugger me if this isn't worse than Brecon Beacons," Owen said.

Oh yes, just like Owen to make him think of cannibals instead of Lisa. So much better. "Shut up, Owen, or I'll pull over and find you a burger that's really contaminated with Hep-A. Shouldn't be too hard here."

"Come on, Ianto, it isn't that bad," Tosh said. "The way you talk, you'd think someone in New Jersey comes down with a weird, unknown disease every week."

"Are we there yet?" Jack asked, peering at the map in Gwen's hands.

Ianto sighed and reached back to turn the map right-side up.

"Oh." Gwen looked chagrined. "I was wondering why the Atlantic was to the west."

"I want to know why the bloody GPS isn't working." Owen elbowed Tosh. "Oy, Tosh, you're the computer genius, get on it."

Gwen shoved the map at Owen. "It wouldn't hurt if you learned to use a map."

"It wouldn't hurt if you took the middle seat once in a while."

"It's not every day you're sandwiched between two lovely women." Jack flashed Owen his most winning grin.

"Shut up, Harkness."

"We've got a reading!" Tosh exclaimed.

"Ianto, was that the exit 9 to New Brunswick?" Gwen asked.

Owen rolled his eyes. "That was a six, Cooper."

"Are you getting shirty with me?"

"Six, nine, completely different. You ought to know."

"I've got a reading!" Tosh repeated.

"Where?" Ianto asked, trying his best to shut everyone else out.

"Are you having sex with Owen?" Jack asked.

"No!" replied Ianto.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "I was talking to Gwen."

"Then you should've said 'again.'"

"You and the teaboy are hardly role models for platonic office relationships," Owen said.

"Forwarding the coordinates," Tosh said.

"Got it." Ianto spared his handheld a glance before returning his attention to the road with the cars on the wrong side.

"Rhys and I are getting along fine, Jack," Gwen said.

"I'm worried about _you_."

"I'm fine."

"And she's shagging Owen," Tosh muttered.

"_What?_" Three heads turned simultaneously.

Tosh sighed. "I announce a fix on the alien artifact and only Ianto responds, but I have a juicy piece of gossip and you can't pay attention fast enough!"

Jack tapped a few buttons on his wristband. "You locked onto a band of microwave radiation originating from the object's passage through the Rift. I've been narrowing the frequency search while we were discussing Gwen's sex life, and it seems to be emanating from a spot in Princeton."

"We figured that out back in Cardiff," Owen said.

Tosh examined her handheld. "He means Princeton University."

Jack entered a few last commands. "More specifically, a hospital. The Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital."

"Tosh's readings indicate residual radiation all across the city," Ianto said.

"Pay attention to the road," Owen said.

"Pay attention to your job. You'll want to be prepared when you meet a real doctor."

"Real funny. I'm laughing my arse off."

"The object was moved." Tosh's eyes widened as she considered the implications. "What if someone set it off?"

Jack shook his head. "No, we'd have intercepted some report, from the media or the FBI or UNIT, and from the analysis I did in the Hub, the technology has a massive energy output. There's no way we'd miss that."

"Well, either way, we'd better hurry," Ianto said. "Alien technology loose in a teaching hospital? It'd be like _Grey's Anatomy_ meets _Scrubs_."

"With blood and violence," Gwen said.

"And sex." Owen sounded far too cheerful for his own good.

Ianto felt that risking a speeding ticket was preferable to risking his sanity, so he pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal.

An hour, numerous wrong turns, and one traffic violation from an annoyingly arrogant cop named Tritter later, they finally found themselves in the parking lot of Princeton-Plainsboro. For some reason, the sun was now shining, but the drizzle continued, and the combination created wisps of steam rising off the asphalt. Shrill sirens announced the arrival of an ambulance at the other end of the hospital, and they watched as doctors rushed out to cart a patient in, looking efficient and professional until one of them slipped and fell off the curb. Ianto decided Torchwood vacations were overrated.

"So what do you suppose we're looking for?" Gwen asked.

Jack shrugged. "Lots of things in the universe produce enough energy to blow up a continent."

Ianto scanned the hospital. Grand, sprawling, elegant, it was clearly a modern facility, designed to attract donors as well as patients. Rows and rows of windows gave a clear view into the building, as though it were screaming on behalf of all its occupants, _We have nothing to hide._ But Ianto knew that glass walls just concealed their secrets by other, better means.

He was jolted out of his reverie when Gwen suddenly cried out. Then Jack was falling too. Ianto rushed over, grabbing his arm and steadying him. To his other side, Gwen clambered back onto her feet, rubbing her torn pant leg with one hand, the other still clutching Jack's greatcoat.

Jack gave Ianto a nod and turned to Gwen. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, fine, I must have slipped."

"Still a little weak in the knees?" Owen winked at her.

Gwen ignored him and strode through the glass front doors without waiting for them. Ianto's nose wrinkled in anticipation of the stink of antiseptics and was surprised when the lobby smelled faintly of spruce air freshener and little else. It almost reminded him of the Hub.

They moved past the desk at the center of the lobby. Several nurses wandered past, paying them no attention. Jack quickened his pace, concentrating on Gwen. Ianto cut him off and said to Gwen, "I thought you were going to stay faithful to Rhys after he died."

Jack's glare was filled with disapproval, and for a moment, Ianto felt disoriented as memories of threats and doubts flooded back, reinforced by the eerily darkening skies outside. He had no time to respond, however, as Gwen rounded on him and grabbed his collar, shoving him back. His fingers tugged at hers, partly to keep her from choking him, partly to save his tie, which he was quite fond of.

"_What I do is none of your business, Jack!_" Gwen screamed.

Now they had everyone's attention.

Jack and Owen ran up, trying to separate the two of them, but Gwen's grip was ironclad. Ianto started to wheeze as his shirt tightened around his throat.

"Gwen... who… am I?" Ianto gasped.

"Shut up, Jack. I'm sick of your stupid questions!"

With a roar, Gwen threw Ianto back. He heard crashing cymbals and realized he was falling through glass. He squeezed his eyelids shut and tried to resist the urge to cushion his impact with his hands. Shards of glass fell against him like drops of cold water, tiny pinpricks against his back as he was thrown by a woman he'd thought he'd known. Then Gwen started screaming, and screaming, and screaming.

All the air was knocked out of his lungs as he smashed onto the vinyl tiling. Shaking his face clean of glass, he opened his eyes to see Jack and three nurses trying to restrain Gwen as she flailed about on the ground, kicking and punching and screaming all the while.

"Help! _Help!_ HELP ME!" Her struggle was losing purpose, her limbs twitching from uncontrollable spasms rather than by any conscious will.

He stood, unsure what to do. A chance moment brought Jack's gaze in line with his, and he took a step backward in shock; he had seen many emotions in Jack's eyes, from fear to hatred to sadness, but never despair, never sheer despair. This wasn't something Jack understood, and it wasn't anything he had control over. It wasn't alien, it wasn't an enemy he could fight, it was an illness, a weakness all too human. _Oh god, please no, please let her stop, please let her be all right, please make it stop._

Gwen fell still. Ianto approached with his heart in his throat. More doctors, more nurses, all rushed toward them, but Ianto didn't study them, didn't even look at them. His eyes were fixed on his colleague, his ally, his friend, but her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, unmoving, unseeing.

"Is she... is she dead?" he asked no one in particular.

No one answered. A wall of white lab coats cut him off from her.


	3. Chapter 1: Hora Fugit

**Chapter 1**

**Hora Fugit**

"There's nothing interesting about a stroke." House tapped his pencil against the table and waited to see which frown Cameron would give him this time. "Where would you find a feathered snake?"

"What?" Chase moved closer to try and get a better view of the crossword, so House hid it under the table.

"Teotihuacan," replied Cameron. "Now can we get back to the case?"

House pretended to scribble in the answer. "Tay-oh-teeee, nope, doesn't fit."

"Then you misspelled it. I thought you spoke Spanish." She put her hand out. "Let me see."

"Nice try." House rolled up the paper and swung it away from Cameron straight into Chase's face. Chase blinked, more surprised than upset, before he snatched it and ran for the relative safety of the coffee machine. "Hey! It's bad manners to steal from a cripple."

"It's also bad manners to steal from a colleague."

"Not if he has a funny accent."

Cameron rolled her eyes. "The man she strangled was named Ianto Jones, but she called him 'Jack.'"

"You spoke to her friends? But none of them have cancer!"

"Maybe I actually care."

"And Foreman's black! Wow, we're discovering so many new things about each other today. Your turn, Chase; care to share who you slept with last night?"

"I didn't sleep with anyone!"

The coffee machine hissed. House got up and took the mug as soon as it finished filling. "Your shirt is rumpled, which means you didn't iron it when you did the laundry, which means you've been stashing clothes at somebody's house, which would be where you spent last night. Also, you--" House paused, then started sniffing Chase's hair.

"Not content with just smelling Cameron?" Foreman said.

House snapped his fingers. "Of course!" He paced over to Cameron, inhaled deeply, and slammed his cane onto the table, causing everyone to start. "Caught!"

Cameron drew herself up. "Are you suggesting--"

"People lie. Shampoo doesn't."

"Can we get back to the case?"

"There is no case. Mental confusion is common in stroke patients. Her clot was close to the limbic system, between the parietal and occipital lobes; it screws up her vision and her memories. The location also explains the loss of motor control."

"She picked up her coworker and threw him five feet!"

"The paranoia and sudden anger suggests her brain was already suffering oxygen deprivation in her emotional centers, triggering a panic attack, which stimulates the adrenal glands."

"Still doesn't explain why an otherwise healthy young woman would get a stroke."

"Might as well ask Wilson why cute little bald children are always hanging around his office. She has essential hypertension, there's your etiology. Group of Keanu Reeves wannabes from England, right?"

"Wales."

"Same thing, those foreigners. They probably stuff their arteries with 'chips,' and who knows what their genes look like? Maybe she snores, which is what I'll be doing if this conversation continues any longer."

Handing Chase the emptied mug, House returned to his office. Cameron approached the whiteboard, and without looking back, House yelled, "No touching the markers without daddy's permission." The door slammed shut.

Cameron turned back to her fellows. "Come on, you two don't think there's something to this case?"

Chase shrugged. "House isn't interested, nothing we can do."

"If you're right," Foreman said, "she'll present with more symptoms. Just wait."

**--**

Gwen's breathing was so slow and shallow, Toshiko Sato kept glancing at the EKG to reassure herself she was still alive. The sun's descent had brought a thick silence down upon the room. The doctors said the surgery had gone as well as could be expected, but Gwen was still unconscious and brain damage was likely. Jack had remained by her side the whole day, head bowed over her still body. Owen sat in the corner, keeping an equally constant, though more withdrawn, vigil.

The door slid open and Ianto entered with coffee. Tosh didn't question how he'd gotten home-brewed beans; she had learned to accept that minor miracles happened when he was around. It was a small comfort now, but she was grateful nevertheless, and she gave him what she hoped was a reassured smile when she received her mug. His expression remained neutral.

Tosh wished she could do something for him. She knew he was feeling guilty about Gwen's condition. She had seen the look in his eyes whenever Jack smiled at Gwen, or whenever the two were close together. She had noticed the small mannerisms--a twitch of the finger when he greeted Gwen, a tightness in his shoulders when he handed her a cup of what Tosh kept expecting to turn out to be Tesco instant--that grew more or less conspicuous depending on how tired Ianto was that day. And she couldn't blame him; they all knew Jack's reputation when it came to relationships, and try as he might, there was no way Ianto could think Jack loved him. Cared about him, yes, but enough to spend the rest of their lives together? Probably not.

Ianto's misgivings had grown worse after Jack's disappearance, for obvious reasons. Everyone had figured out long ago that the hand Jack kept belonged to the enigmatic Doctor, whose capture Jack had made clear was no longer part of their charter. And out in forgotten Cardiff, with Torchwood One gone, his word was law.

Tosh had met the Doctor once, during the Slitheen invasion of London and 10 Downing Street. In retrospect, after all the things she'd seen, it was strange remembering how terrified she had been of a simple augmented pig, but the Doctor had stormed in at the head of a squad of soldiers, claiming UNIT authority, and uncovered the "alien" for what it really was: a hoax, albeit one perpetrated by real aliens. And while she was still processing this revelation, the Doctor disappeared as suddenly as he'd shown up, and only the strange and haunting _vworp vworp_ sound of vanishing alien technology told her he'd left for good.

He showed up again with Jack and a woman named Martha Jones one week after Jack disappeared. Since the TARDIS materialized by the Hub, the CCTV caught everything, and there was nothing Jack could do to deny it. The Doctor didn't look the same as when Tosh met him; in fact, she would never have realized it was him had Ianto not told them. Apparently, Ianto met him during the Battle of Canary Wharf, and though Tosh had no logs to prove it--Ianto had long ago figured out how to stay one step ahead of her when it came to security, probably a habit acquired from back when he was hiding Lisa--she suspected there'd been one more meeting.

Ianto pulled up a seat beside Jack. "Captain?"

Jack's voice was hushed and hoarse. "Yes, Ianto."

"None of the hospital staff I've talked to report any strange sightings or events."

At first, Tosh wondered what Ianto was thinking, ignoring Gwen's plight, but then she realized Jack would expect her to do her job as well. She pulled out her handheld.

"Tosh?" Jack asked.

"Scanning now, Jack." Torchwood Three had developed a more advanced technique based on Jack's wristband for locating alien objects by isolating signals emanating from non-terrestrial technologies. The artifact they were hunting, however, seemed to emit no signal whatsoever, and as such, they'd had to fall back on scanning for microwave radiation from the energy it picked up during its passage through the Rift. They were lucky the radiation readings were high enough to detect at all, but this had been no normal passage. The last time the Rift dropped anything significantly outside of Cardiff had been when Owen ripped it open to bring her and Jack back from 1941. There had been no such disastrous attempt with the Rift manipulator this time, which was actually more disturbing than reassuring.

Rows and rows of numbers flooded her display before it generated a 3D image of Princeton-Plainsboro along with a color-chart for radiation intensity in various sections of the building. She shook her head. "There's radiation all over the place; not only is the hospital's equipment creating interference, the device has been here so long it's got tracks everywhere. I can't think of any way to pinpoint it any further."

Jack grimaced. "Then looks like Ianto's method is the best shot we've got: back to using our good old-fashioned eyes."

"Yes, sir." Ianto stood and motioned for Tosh to follow him. As they approached the door, however, she saw a familiar doctor coming down the hall. She smiled at them and Ianto stepped back to let her in.

"Doctor Cameron," he greeted her.

Jack looked up. "I hope you have good news for us."

Cameron flipped through Gwen's files. "Her condition's stable; that's good. I did speak to Dr. House, and he's reviewing the details of her case now. We'll hopefully hear something from him soon. Now, we barely had time to exchange names earlier, so I need to know, who's married or related to her?"

"Uh, none of us." Jack paused. "We're her co-workers."

"Anyone I can contact?"

"She has a boyfriend back home."

"If they're not married, he has no authority to make medical decisions for her while she's incapacitated."

"Will she stay that way for long?" Jack asked sharply.

Cameron flinched, then said, "Hopefully not." Jack looked ready to begin an interrogation, so she quickly added, "What about family? Parents? Siblings?"

Jack shut his mouth and looked thoughtful. Ianto stepped forward, "No siblings. Her mother and father live in Cardiff…" he glanced over and noticed Jack digging through his coat pockets, so he continued, "…but they're in no state to travel."

"Exactly," Jack flourished a piece of paper at Cameron. "That's why, traveling overseas and all, she decided to name me her medical proxy in case of emergency. I'm her boss, see, and we're very close… but not like that."

Cameron's eyebrows went up at the last statement, but she took the paper, which was blank, and examined it. She handed it back. "Well, looks like everything is in order, Mr. Harkness."

"Please, call me Jack."

Tosh mouthed, _Psychic paper?_ at Ianto, who just raised an eyebrow at her, as though asking, _Are you really surprised?_

"Well, Jack, has Gwen's family had a history of stroke, high blood pressure, or similar illnesses?"

"No," Ianto replied. Cameron turned to face him. "Her grandparents are all still alive, and she has a large extended family of aunts, uncles, and cousins. She lost an aunt on her father's side in a fire when she was twelve, and a great-uncle died of lung cancer, but he was a heavy smoker all his life."

He circled back behind Jack and pulled his laptop out of his bag. "Here, if you'll lend me a printer, I can get you all of her medical files." Cameron clearly didn't know how to interpret this revelation. Ianto shrugged. "It's part of my job, making sure nothing interferes with theirs."

"Has she acted differently lately or complained of pain or numbness?" Cameron asked.

"Yeah," Owen said. "She's been getting headaches for a few months now, and she drops things sometimes. I thought she was just being clumsy; it happens you know."

"Do you know if she or her boyfriend has had an affair in the past two years?"

"How is that medically relevant to a stroke?" Owen demanded.

Ianto shot Jack a significant look.

"Unless... STDs? Syphilis? Really?" Owen shook his head. "She had a bloody stroke!"

Jack returned Ianto's look.

"Not all her symptoms are from the stroke," Cameron said. "Hypertension, while unfortunate in a woman her age, is not unheard of. However, she had an embolic stroke, a blood clot from traveling debris, and symptoms such as headache and muscle weakness wouldn't present over the long-term unless they point toward another condition."

"So you're saying she has two potentially fatal diseases that have nothing to do with each other?"

"I'm saying something is wrong with her and withholding medically relevant information may cause her death!"

"You're going down a completely absurd path."

"And how would you know?"

"Perhaps I should introduce myself fully, Dr. Cameron. I am _Doctor_ Owen Harper, at your service."

"Well, _Doctor_ Harper, Dr. House only takes cases other physicians can't diagnose. Now would someone please answer my question?"

"Dr. House? Gregory House?"

"Have you not been listening to a word I've said?"

"Sorry, princess, no. But I've heard of House. Sure, he hates patients, but he never loses the opportunity to accuse them of being in a loveless relationship. So where is he, huh? Or are you bluffing?"

"Can it!" Jack snapped. "Yes, Gwen's been having an affair. _With Doctor Harper._ So, Owen, will you stop pestering her and answer her questions, or do you want Gwen dead?"

Silence fell as Owen stared at Jack, then dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry. Dr. Cameron, can we speak privately?"

Cameron nodded and guided him out of the room. Ianto shut the door behind them.

"She was lying," he said.

"I know," replied Jack.

Tosh's eyes widened. "About what?"

"About House taking the case."

"Then why did you let her question Owen?"

"Because if she's trying so hard to find out what's wrong, there's still a chance House might take Gwen's case. Ianto's asked around; they say House is the best doctor here, or anywhere, and I'm not going to say no to that sort of expertise. Now get going. We're wasting time here, and Gwen's life isn't the only one in danger."

**--**

Owen followed Cameron into the hospital labs where she sat him beside a row of microscopes. He hoped that wouldn't be indicative of the rest of the interview.

"So you were intimate with Gwen."

Well, so much for that hope. "What, are we in grade school now?"

"No, I mean, did you spend a lot of time with her? Have you had a chance to observe her daily habits? Do you recall any changes in routine or behavior in the past few weeks or months, apart from the headaches and the loss of coordination?"

"No."

Cameron tapped her fingers against the counter. When no additional response seemed forthcoming, she said, "That's it? 'No'?"

"What else do you want me to say? It's not like we were dating; we just do it for the release, for a little bit of escape from the daily stress, like fuck buddies, you know, or…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "No, not fuck buddies, more like--"

"I'm glad you're so discriminating when it comes to having affairs."

"Who died and made you Virgin Queen of the Catholic schoolgirls?"

"How many women have you slept with?"

"Oh god. Here, let me get my list. And just the women?"

"All sexual partners."

"Oooh, _all_ sexual partners. Sorry, your majesty, Jack and Tosh are the alien shaggers."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Cameron snapped. "You're cracking jokes while your friend lies on the verge of death!"

"Bloody Americans, think they know everything," Owen muttered.

"You--"

"_This has nothing to do with me!_" Owen rose with such force his chair went flying across the room. He swept one arm along the counter, smashing the microscopes together and flinging them to crash against the wall. Cameron cringed and ran for the phone, but he tripped her and she went sprawling across the floor. He leapt onto her and pinned her to the ground. "What the fuck do you want from me? What do you want to hear? You want to know that the last co-worker I shagged blew her brains out after murdering three people? You want to hear that the last woman I loved would rather fly a plane into oblivion than spend the rest of her life with me? You want to hear that Gwen's just a rebound shag I don't give a fuck about and if she dies and it's my fault, I won't care because I'm a cold-hearted bastard and believing that can make you feel superior? Because let me tell you, Dr. Cameron, you know shit about my life. You don't know who we are or what we go through to do our jobs and save millions of ingrates like you while anyone we've ever cared about dies and we can't do a thing to stop it, so you'll forgive me if I don't give a damn about your opinion of me and if I refuse to take one more condescending word from you.

"I've met people like you. It's easy to stay noble when you've got nothing to live for. You run around, always looking for causes to uphold, people to order around, weaklings to protect, because you can't stand being by yourself, you couldn't survive if it was just you, sitting in the dark, in the silence, living with the beating of your own heart and the creeping emptiness of your own thoughts. You're afraid to look into your own soul and face the fact that despite everything you've done, all the lives you've saved, you don't know what you're doing; you're scared, you're lost, you're _alone_, and no matter how many broken hearts you mend, there's no one who'll do the same for you."

Their faces mere centimeters apart, he could feel her ragged breath upon his cheek and the strain of her muscles against his weight. Her eyes were wide, though he couldn't read any emotions beyond the stunned shock. _Shit, shit,_ he thought. _Now I've done it._

He quickly got up and retreated to the other end of the room. Damn it! He tried recalling all the words that had flooded out of him, trying to decide if any of them were damning enough that he'd have to retcon her. He blamed this on the others: Jack and how he could do no wrong in the eyes of the team, how he could abandon them, threaten them, run off with Torchwood's number one enemy, and in the end, they all still begged for his approval; Tosh and her neediness, her sudden swings from earnestly wanting to help to being cold and distant, as though she'd never pined after him, keeping pictures of him stashed all over her apartment; Ianto and his superiority, Ianto who should've been on the receiving end of his tirade rather than poor Dr. Cameron, who sometimes looked at Owen as though he was something the dog dragged in, and even though Owen outranked him, Owen knew Ianto had become far more indispensable to the team. And Gwen, even when she was dying, he couldn't help but blame her for his problems. Guilty sex was great, but only if the guilty part could be put off until he was gone. It wasn't the same, it wasn't even enjoyable any more, yet the two of them clung to it like a rock in an ever-changing sea. What did that say about them? Moreover, what did it say about him? He didn't feel guilty for making Gwen miserable; he was too wrapped up in his own obsession, in what could have been with Diane.

"I'm sorry," Cameron said.

He grimaced, a downward twist of one side of his lips, "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn't have lost my temper, and I definitely shouldn't have touched you."

She looked disheveled, and her lab coat had caught against the counter as she fell, tearing a long gash in the right side. She made no effort to tidy herself up. Instead, she pulled up two chairs and this time, chose to sit down rather than stand over him. He joined her, and she gave him a cautious smile.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

"We're not allowed to talk about our jobs. Confidential, special ops."

"You already have. Sounds like police work. Plenty you can talk about without disclosing anything you shouldn't. Lie if you must." She laughed bitterly. "Everyone lies."

"There you go again, trying to mend my heart."

"You get something back for whatever you give."

"You believe that?"

She smiled, but the wrinkles around her eyes weren't laugh lines. "A little. Is it that much to hope someone will give back?"

"It is if you keep everyone at a distance."

She hesitated, then pulled her chair closer. "Fine, we'll play it your way."

**--**

The nurse's name was Brenda. The name Brenda derived from Brandon, which was Gaelic for "little raven." Ravens grew up to pluck out people's eyes.

"We're just looking for the cafeteria," Ianto said.

"Cafeteria's downstairs. On the first floor. Where cafeterias are usually found."

"We got lost."

"There's a directory on the wall."

"We couldn't find the lifts."

"They're right behind you."

"Right, so we'll be on our way then."

"Yes you will."

Ianto waited. Brenda waited. Tosh re-scanned Brenda for the fiftieth time; both of them were hoping the artifact was on her so they'd have an excuse to jump her, but alas, they were disappointed yet again. And clearly, she had no intention of letting them out of her sight unless it was to the sound of lift music.

The doors opened.

"Ah. The lift's here."

"Yes it is."

"We'll just be stepping in then."

"Yes you will."

"It was nice meeting you."

"I'm sure. What was your name?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"For security purposes."

"Ah." Ianto nodded sympathetically. "Security's very important. It's what you have security guards for."

"What security guards?" Tosh asked.

"Exactly. Run, Yvonne!" Ianto dashed off to the left. He winced, wondering why "Yvonne" was the first alias to come to mind.

"What?" Tosh said. "Who's Yv-- oh. Hey, let go of me!"

Ianto turned the corner. Back by the lifts, he heard Brenda's voice: "I've got a thermometer. Don't make me use it."

"What can you do with a thermom-- oh. _Oh!_ Ow, ow, ow, I'm going, I'm going!"

Convinced that Brenda would materialize any instant amidst a burst of smoke, Ianto dodged into a nearby room. The lights were off, and he'd assumed it was unoccupied, but when he entered, he saw there was in fact a patient unconscious on the bed. Beside him sat a brusque-looking man with a cane and very nice blue eyes. He was eating a Reuben sandwich.

"Oh, hello, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong room."

The man stared at him. "You're the guy who went kerplowy through the glass in the lobby."

"Uh, yes," Ianto replied, wondering whether this would make him an easier target for Brenda. "And you would be…"

"Dr. House," a voice said from behind him. Ianto jumped before he realized the voice was male and therefore definitely not Lillith of the Windy Hospital Gowns. "I'm Dr. James Wilson, and you must be Ianto Jones. Cameron's spoken of you."

"Yeah, he's the wuss who got beaten up by a girl," House said. "And his tie is ugly like yours."

"Are you lost?" Wilson asked.

House whacked Wilson in the knee with his cane, though not very hard since the other doctor didn't even wince. "No flirting. You'll make me jealous."

Ianto and Wilson both blinked uncomprehendingly at him, then decided to ignore the comment.

"Are you his doctors, then?" Ianto asked, indicating the sleeping man.

"No, this is coma guy," House said, turning on the television. "He makes for excellent lunch company, and the nurses always clean up after us. They're so much more meticulous than the cafeteria staff."

"I, uh, I think I'll be going," Ianto said, peering out the window for signs of Brenda. When the coast seemed clear, he dodged out. As the door closed behind him, he definitely heard House say, "See? Wuss."

That was when he realized his handheld was beeping like crazy. That was also when he heard Brenda say, "There he is!"

He turned to see two security guards running toward him, and he set off in the opposite direction. As he ran, the beeping grew even stronger until he reached a coat rack. He saw a passing nurse.

"Excuse me, ma'am, what's this for?"

She stared at him. "It's for hanging coats."

"No, I mean, whose coats?" He eyed the approaching security guards and guessed he had about ten more seconds.

"Patients, doctors." She leaned over and whispered confidentially, "Brenda's been cracking down on staff dress code."

"Figures. Well, good talking to you, got to go!" Ianto repositioned the coat rack and dashed off again. Two seconds later, the security guards crashed into the rack. Clothes went flying, and the nurse screamed as the three of them went down in a mass of light spring jacket wear. That was unfortunate; she seemed quite nice.

Ianto was adequately rewarded for his efforts when he found Jack waiting to greet him on the second floor. This would have been quite unremarkable except that every once in a while, Jack's greetings involved breathless kissing and scandalized elderly patients frantically hobbling away on walkers. This was one of those occasions.

"I thought you'd be with Gwen," Ianto told Jack once his mouth was unoccupied.

"Tosh is with her now. After hearing her story, I figured I'd better check up on you, make sure you're not getting into brawls with security guards; you should never fight without backup."

Ianto smiled. "Or at least a good old-fashioned stun gun."

"I'm going to have to examine you, make sure you're safe and sound and all in one piece."

"Not in public."

"Prude." Jack grabbed his hand, guiding him down the hallway and into one of the exam rooms. His intuition proved better than Ianto's, as the room turned out to be indeed unoccupied.

"Security's going to be after me," Ianto said.

"Oh well, the thing about security is they always notice your most distinguishing feature, so rule number one is make sure that feature is one you can change." Jack started undoing Ianto's tie.

"I thought rule number one was never press that big red button."

"That only applies to Sycorax." 

"Uh, well, sir…" His waistcoat went flying across the room, which was quite a distracting thing for a waistcoat to do.

"I'd say cute's your most obvious feature, but we can't really change that." Jack grinned. "So the next option would be your suit." He started in on the shirt.

Ianto took a deep breath and pushed Jack's hands away. "I got an elevated radiation reading upstairs by a coat rack. It belongs to the staff, but I didn't have time to check it, what with the security guards after me and all. You're going to have to do it. It's by the oncology wing."

"Killjoy." Jack pouted.

As Jack turned to go, Ianto grabbed his hand. "You're not mad?" he asked.

"About what?"

"About Gwen. You know, what I said to her."

Jack considered this. "What are you willing to do to make up for it?"

"Jack!"

"All right, all right," he raised his hands in placation. "Honestly, it was something that needed to be said, though I'll admit that waiting to do it right before she stroked was in bad taste."

Ianto sighed.

"And I understand why you did it."

Ianto looked down at his feet and felt his cheeks redden. "Is it that obvious? Tosh hasn't said anything to you, has she?"

"Have you told her anything I should know?"

"Well, no, but she gives me funny looks sometimes."

Jack sighed. "How on Earth do other bosses run things? I mean, how do normal organizations ever get anything done?"

Ianto burst out laughing. Jack pretended to look wounded. "That's uncalled for, making fun of a time traveler. I'm taking your tie as punishment."

Ianto was still snickering when Jack left, but when the door closed and he was sure Jack had gone, he rushed to his waistcoat to check the pocket and make sure the transmitter hadn't been damaged.

The Doctor had not stayed long in Cardiff; barely twenty-four hours, and he was gone again. Enough time to answer a few questions, establish who he was, what he did, why he was Torchwood's number one enemy--Queen Victoria must have had incredible presence of mind to resist the Doctor's charming demeanor--and he was off again to the stars. He clearly did not remember Ianto from Torchwood One; after all, they had merely passed each other in the halls, one running to save a woman Ianto later learned was named Rose, the other running to save a woman Ianto later learned was already dead.

"Ianto Jones; I've heard a lot about you," the Doctor said, shaking his hand as Jack introduced them. Ianto had been pleasantly surprised, but not enough so to miss the brief flash of misgiving in Jack's expression. _Worried about how the part-time shag will misinterpret those words._ Ianto felt he should be angry at Jack, or jealous, or something, but he wasn't, and that bothered him, because he didn't know why.

The fountain whispered as he stepped out toward the TARDIS. The Doctor was already at the door, key in hand, but he spoke without looking. "Hello, Ianto."

"I want to speak with you."

The Doctor nodded, and they walked in silence toward the Millennium Centre. The Doctor found a bench and took a seat. Ianto just followed his lead.

"I didn't lie," the Doctor said. "If I did, how could I guess you planned to intercept me? How would I know enough about you to understand what you're thinking?"

"Jack likes to tell stories. You know about all of us, not just me."

"Don't miss a thing, do you, Ianto Jones?" The Doctor rapped him on the forehead. "Except where love blinds you."

"I'm not in love."

"Funny. Jack says the same thing." The Doctor studied Ianto, then offered his toothy grin, so similar to Jack's. "Ah, and the eyes give away the lie."

"What does it matter to you? You two are the same, two immortals, always traveling, always running, always changing _companions_." Ianto spat out the word, as though it were a curse.

"Which is why he won't let go of the thought of me, even now when he knows I can't cure his immortality, as if life was something that needed to be cured. But you see, Ianto Jones, what he loves is an idea, an outlet for his own frustrations, someone he thinks understands what he's going through. But that's the child in him, screaming for somebody to take care of him. One day, he'll return to his senses, learn to love again, true love for someone who truly exists. And that isn't me, because I may be next to immortal, but I'm fleeting. One moment I'm here, and the next…" The Doctor extended his arms and separated them slowly, tracing out the shape of a dissipating cloud. Ianto could almost see the TARDIS fading into nothingness. "I don't linger, Ianto. There are no consequences to my actions, and for that, I must pay a price. Jack is smart, and time may yet make him wise. Perhaps my example will teach him to avoid my mistakes."

The silence stretched for who knew how long. Ianto could check the CCTV logs and know precisely, but there was no need to. Finally, he said, "Why are you telling me this?"

The Doctor smiled again, always the same smile, but the eyes gave away the lie. "I'm over a thousand years old. Do you know how old the universe is?"

It was a question without an answer, or so Ianto thought. With that, the conversation was over, and all that remained was goodbye. The Doctor left him a device which would call him should Ianto activate it. He said it was for Jack, but Jack would never take it; he was still waiting for the Doctor to come and save him. Torchwood needed a line of communication to the Doctor. Ianto asked why him. The Doctor just shook his hand. _I've heard a lot about you._ Ianto promised he would never use it unless there was great need, and the Doctor's eyes just twinkled as he said, "I know."

Toshiko was typing when he returned to Gwen's room. Ianto sat beside her and watched as she worked out a new program to sort through the various frequencies of radiation that permeated the hospital. Minutes ticked by, punctuated by the occasional growl of frustration from Tosh's throat. After an hour, Ianto stood to stretch his legs. As he paced past the window, he glanced to where he'd parked their car, more out of habit than the expectation that it would be gone. His heart skipped a beat when he saw that there was, indeed, no car there.

"Tosh!"

She let out a yelp and jumped. "What is it?"

He quickly scanned the parking lot and saw flashing yellow lights at the intersection leading into the hospital. "Our car's being towed! Stay here!"

"No, I can handle it!" Tosh cast a dirty look at the reams of paper she'd crumpled up over the past hour. "You stay with Gwen."

She was out the door before he could protest. It was unlike her to leave a project, no matter how difficult, but then, the sterile atmosphere of the hospital was enough to fray anyone's nerves. Ianto shook his head and settled down again. He was going through her calculations when he heard a moan. His eyes widened as he turned to the bed.

Gwen's eyes fluttered open. "Rhys?" she called faintly.

Ianto took her hand. "Gwen, it's me."

Gwen slowly focused on him. "Ianto. Oh, it's so good to see you. It was so… I was so…" Gwen rubbed her forehead. "What happened?"

"The doctors say you had a stroke."

"A stroke? Me? But I'm--" She blinked, tilting her head quizzically. "Ianto? Ianto! Oh my god, Ianto, help me, I'm so scared! I'm so scared!"

Ianto tightened his grip and leaned closer. "Gwen? Look at me, focus on me! What's wrong? What's happening?"

"Oh, I'm so scared, the darkness, the--" Suddenly, her back arched, and she screamed. "Oh my god, I can't see!"

"Somebody help!" Ianto shouted. Nurses rushed in as she began trembling. She let go of his hand, her arms flailing wildly.

"Ianto! Help me!" she screamed. But before the nurses could do anything, the episode was over and she went limp, breathing heavily. Ianto let out a sigh of relief, but then he saw that the panic had not faded from her features.

"Gwen, what's wrong?"

"I can't see color," she whispered. "Everything's black and white! I can't, I can't see…" 

Jack had never been fond of looking for things the hard way--with his eyes. It seemed an unnecessary waste of energy, but seeing as they had very little choice... 

A couple hours of fruitless searching found him somewhere in the Oncology wing without the slightest clue how to get back to Gwen's room. There was also no trace of an overturned coat rack, or a coat rack of any sort. Every bit of the hospital looked the same, all glass and contemporary architecture, and he'd been concentrating on his search instead of where he was headed.

Frustrated with himself, he cast around for someone to ask directions from, but everyone in the immediate vicinity looked like they were extremely busy or in a lot of pain. He tried approaching a nurse, but she glared at him before he'd barely opened his mouth and said, "You aren't supposed to be here unless you're a doctor or a patient. Scram." A little shaken--since when had women not tripped over themselves to help him?--he did as he was told. 

As he turned the corner into another hall, he almost ran right into someone. The someone turned out to be a slightly harassed-looking middle-aged man, who upon further inspection turned out to be extremely handsome. Mentally, Jack grinned.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going," said the man, looking apologetic.

Jack gave him a winning smile. "No, it was entirely my fault. I'm Captain Jack Harkness, by the way. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand. The man smiled back and grasped his hand, shaking it firmly.

"Doctor James Wilson. Nice to meet you too."

Never one to miss an opportunity, Jack used his current plight to strike up a conversation. "I seem to have gotten myself lost. Do you think you could show me the way back to my friend's room?" he asked.

"Of course. Do you know the room number?"

"Er…" Jack realized he didn't have the faintest clue and cursed his lack of attention. Dr. Wilson noticed and gave him a sympathetic grin. 

"Never mind, then. What's his name? I can look it up."

"Her name's Gwen Cooper," Jack told him. He didn't bother to hide the fact that he was staring at the doctor's rear end as he turned to a nearby computer. A minute or so of quick typing was all it took to discover the room's elusive address.

"Room 232," Wilson said, turning back to Jack. "I'll lead you there, make sure you don't get lost trying to find it." Jack was pretty sure he could find it, but he saw no reason to avoid talking to a handsome man.

"Thanks. And by the way, you have a very nice ass." Jack could _see_ the exact moment that registered. Wilson did a massive double-take and paused, gaping.

"Um, thanks. I guess," he mumbled, then started walking again, this time a little faster. It was pretty obvious that Wilson thought he was messing with him. Jack jogged a little to catch up.

"No, really, I find you very attractive." Jack could hear the gears turning in Wilson's head as the other man tried to figure out what he was up to.

"Uh," Wilson contributed. Jack tried not to be too unimpressed by the way he handled these sorts of situations. The rest of the trip was spent in silence as Jack continued to check Wilson out as blatantly as he could and Wilson continued to try to pretend he didn't notice. It wasn't long before they reached room 232, and Jack was relieved to find the area somewhat familiar.

"Here we are, then," Wilson said. He was obviously also relieved, probably because the walk had been extremely awkward for him.

"So, you want to get lunch sometime?" Jack asked, grinning at Wilson. 

"Oh. I'm sorry, but I, uh, already have someone I eat lunch with here," he said uncomfortably. "Anyway," he continued, "I really should be getting back to work. So, uh, hope your friend gets better. Bye." Then he turned and walked away at a pace that had to be a little faster than his normal gait.

"See you around!" Jack called after him. Wilson turned a corner. _Damn_, Jack thought, and entered the room.

**--**

Owen was silent as Cameron drew the blood samples. "I'll have the labs test Gwen too, of course, but since I'm not the attending right now, I'd rather check yours ahead of time, just in case," she explained.

Owen nodded, still a little shaken. She didn't blame him. Truth was, she had ended up doing more speaking than Owen. He knew all the right words to say, all the right buttons to push, to keep her distracted and talking about her own problems. She had to admit, it felt therapeutic to confide to a complete stranger what she'd never in a million years say to anyone else. After all, who else could she talk to? She was hardly inclined to trust Foreman, Chase was, well, Chase, and House would just scoff and psychoanalyze her some more.

What little she had gleaned from Owen, though, was worth baring some of her own soul for. Like Rome, the man's pain had not risen in a day; it was layer upon layer of self-deception and loss and confusion, tangled knots of love and hate. She wanted to know more; she wanted to know why, and she wanted to cure him. Maybe House was right about her, but she didn't need House's approval to live her own life. On the job, she deferred to him, but in her own time, she was his superior.

"You're being protective again," Owen said. "Stop it if you ever want me to shag you."

"I have no intention of dancing with you."

"Don't play American on me. You know what I'm talking about."

"Maybe." She jabbed him with another needle. "Last one."

Owen grunted. "Yeah, I know."

"Well, _Doctor_ Harper, since you seem to know everything, do you mind telling me why you're so afraid to talk about yourself?"

"I'm holding out for a better deal."

"I've already told you all my deepest, darkest secrets. Well, most of them."

"You never admitted you want to shag your boss." He grinned when she blinked. "Hey, don't take it personally. Where I work, you have to watch out for these sorts of things."

"Well, _now_ you know all my deepest, darkest secrets."

"Women's secrets are boring. Their kisses are far more interesting."

She laughed. "Does anyone fall for that, doctor?"

"Well," he leaned forward, "I guess it's time we found out."

The door slammed open. Owen leapt to his feet, his forearm swinging perilously close to the needle still in her hand. She turned to see Owen's boss rush in, his military coat swirling in the draft.

"Dr. Cameron, you'll want to come quick," he said.

"What's wrong?"

"Gwen's awake. She's lost her color vision."

"That's one possible effect of the stroke."

A cane pushed Jack Harkness aside as House strode into the room. "Ah, but she lost it after she woke, a fact you might have found out if you actually took time to talk to the patient."

Cameron gaped. House gave her that intense stare that made her feel like he was sifting through her brain.

"You don't look half so pretty with your mouth open," he said. "I expected you to be more pleased. I'm taking the case."


	4. Chapter 2: Three Kisses

**Chapter 2**

**Three Kisses**

The tow truck was gone by the time Tosh made it into the car park. Even worse, she found no signs indicating parking restrictions where they'd left the car. While this probably meant they wouldn't need to pay any fines, it also meant she had no clue who had taken the car or why they'd done so.

Back in the lobby, the receptionist was less than helpful. "We didn't report any parking violations," he kept repeating, until Tosh finally found a phone book and went through the listings herself.

She was well into the book when a male voice said, "Hello" from beside her. She looked up to see a smiling young man in a business suit. For a moment, her mind blanked; if she'd been asked to describe a tall, dark and handsome stranger, she would've described him. He had close-cropped, jet black hair with prominent sideburns, but his eyes were clear light blue, pale enough to be grey. His face was rugged, but his smile was so earnest he appeared almost boyish, and his cheeks were a little flushed, as though he had just rushed in from another appointment. And, of course, he was tall--over six feet.

"Uh, hi," she stammered, "I'm sorry, are you lost?" He didn't look like a patient, and he wasn't dressed as a doctor or nurse.

"I'm afraid I need the phone book; I wasn't going to say anything, but you were taking a while."

"I'm so sorry!" In her rush, Tosh ended up flinging the book at him. "I'm so sorry!" she said again.

He laughed. "Not a problem, I just need to return to work. I was visiting my aunt, see, she had a stroke last weekend. Oh, name's Montgomery Pike, by the way, but people call me Monty."

Tosh shook his hand. "Toshiko Sato." The man looked familiar--and it wasn't just her imagination--but he had an American accent, likely native to New Jersey, so she couldn't have met him before. "Looking for a cab, then?"

He shook his head. "No, some idiot towed my car, and nobody here seems to know what's going on."

"My car got towed too!" Tosh exclaimed.

Monty's grin grew wider. "What a coincidence." He set the book aside and pulled out his cell. "Tell you what, probably same company that towed it, I'll have my secretary call around and check for us."

"You have a secretary?"

"Doesn't everyone these days?"

Tosh wasn't sure if he was being elitist or deflecting attention from a potentially uncomfortable topic. In either case, she moved to the doorway to give him some privacy as he made the call. Outside, the sun was down, but the sky was still lit cerulean by rays from beyond the horizon.

Monty appeared beside her and snapped his phone shut. "It's beautiful, isn't it? Makes me proud to serve this state." He glanced over at Tosh. "I'm an aide to the governor of New Jersey; that's why I have a secretary. I didn't want to say because it'd sound like I was bragging, but you don't seem the sort to jump to conclusions. They've called us a cab; we should know who took our cars soon enough."

**--**

House's announcement that he'd take Gwen's case had been met with varied--though predominately positive--reactions. Cameron had been brimming self-satisfaction, the froggish member of the patient's posse had displayed a mixture of relief and apprehension, and the man named Jack Harkness had grinned, invaded his personal space by clapping him heavily on the back, and led him rather forcefully from the room. He evidently wanted to speak privately with him.

"Hey, hey, if I wanted sexual favors in return for my services, I'd ask!" House protested. "No need to get intimate!"

Harkness barked out a laugh that House decided was a pretty good fake--good enough that anyone else may have thought him to be genuinely amused, but House, who was a naturally suspicious person, was not fooled. The man was up to something. 

Harkness navigated them into a secluded area and turned suddenly serious.

"First," he began before House could produce another sarcastic remark, "I want to thank you for taking Gwen's case. I've heard you're the best doctor around, and Gwen's very important to all of us." House didn't bother feeling flattered.

"Quit beating around the bush and get to the point," he interrupted. Harkness gave him a put-out look.

"Right. Well, I'm going to need all of her medical files when you're done," he said.

House snorted disdainfully. "If you want copies of files, I'm definitely not the one to go to."

"You misunderstand; I don't want copies, I want the actual files. All of them."

"Yeah, right. Over Cuddy's dead body."

"I'd actually prefer not to involve your boss at all. Technically, the files are under your control right now. I just don't want them to ever return to the filing cabinets."

House rolled his eyes. "Look, mister--"

"That's Captain," Harkness interrupted.

"I don't care if you're the Prime Minister," House snapped. "There is absolutely no chance I'm going to steal files for you."

"I can pay you," Harkness tried.

"You can't pay me enough," House countered. 

"I can pay more than you think."

"I'm a _doctor_! I don't need money, you pompous fool!"

"Well, what do you need, then?" Harkness shouted, frustrated.

"A new leg!" House shouted back. There was silence. Harkness appeared to be thinking. House raised an eyebrow at him. 

"A prosthetic?" he ventured, cautiously.

"God no. No one's cutting off my leg." There was another pause.

"No, no... I don't think we could do anything, really," Jack said to himself. "I'll have to ask Ianto, though." He refocused on House. "Is there anything else?" House stared at him.

"No," he said, then turned decisively and began to walk away. Harkness grabbed his arm in an abortive move. 

"This is of the utmost importance! Do I have to resort to petty threats?"

House let out a humorless laugh. "What could you possibly do to me? How much worse could you make my existence? I'm in chronic and excruciating pain, I'm forced to deal with pushy idiots like you on a daily basis, and I haven't gotten laid in over a year."

"This is important," Harkness insisted.

"Oh yeah? If you really want to convince me to steal your friend's files, why don't you just tell me _why_ it's so 'important'?" House challenged. "I admit I'm a little curious."

"I can't do that."

"Then too bad!" He shook off Jack's hand and left.

"Damn it," Jack said, with feeling.

**--**

It was early in the night for James Wilson, but all his work for the day was done, so he was locking up when House stalked by with the man named Jack Harkness. The two were arguing, or at least, their voices were raised and with House around, a quarrel was a safe bet.

He should have known better than to follow. He _really_ should've known better, but he was always curious when he saw House with someone who wasn't a doctor. Of course, deep down, he knew there was only one reason for House to consort with people he despised--Wilson preferred not to consider what it meant for him that House was taking this particular case--but then again, watching Harkness flirt with House could be an interesting experience too.

"Then too bad!" House roared and left.

"Damn it!"

Damn it was right. House could move fast for a cripple. And now…

Jack turned around and his expression brightened. "Oh, hey, it's you again!"

"Uh, hello."

"I don't suppose you're here to take me up on my offer?"

Wilson raised his voice. "Actually, I was kind of hoping to _have a word with DOCTOR HOUSE BEFORE HE LEFT FOR THE EVENING_!" House didn't even slow down. Bastard. The elevator doors closed and it was just him and Harkness. In an empty hallway. At night.

"He must have selective deafness," Harkness said. "Is that a medical or a psychological condition, Dr. Wilson?"

"Everything's psychological with House," Wilson muttered.

"Have you had dinner yet?"

"No, I--" Oh hell.

"Great!" Harkness grabbed his hand and started dragging him along. "You can show me some of the nearby restaurants; don't worry, tab's on me." Suddenly, Harkness stopped and let go. He put his hand to his chin and looked thoughtful. Wilson flew past him, skidding to a stop, and as he passed Harkness, he was pretty sure his hand accidentally touched somewhere inappropriate, but the man didn't react. "That's rude of me. Ianto always says I'm too impulsive. I'm sorry, Dr. Wilson, do you have any prior engagements? I understand if you just want to go home after a long day at work."

"Well, it's been a stressful day," he started. Harkness made some sympathetic noises that sounded genuine. Things were going well. Then habit kicked in. "It's fine, I can show you around."

"No one waiting for you back home?" Jack looked much too interested.

"Well, no. My wife and I got divorced last year."

"I'm terribly sorry. I can't imagine why anyone would want to divorce you."

Wilson wasn't sure what that implied, so he decided to stay silent. They arrived at the elevators and Wilson hit the down button.

"So your lunch companion is Dr. House?"

Wilson hit the button again. "What makes you think that?"

"I've seen the way you look at him."

"In horrible, agonizing annoyance?" He jabbed the button once more for good measure. Damn elevator. Damn House.

"He's got to be _amazing_ in bed; only way anyone would put up with him."

Damn Harkness. "I'm not sleeping with him. I've been married! Three times!"

Harkness chuckled. "You people and your quaint little categories."

"You're American too! The British don't know everything." Oh great, now he sounded like House. Maybe House was right; everyone was one bad day away from becoming him. What a terrifying thought.

"That's not what I meant."

The elevator finally arrived and they stepped in. Then the doors closed and Wilson realized this was even worse, because now Harkness was _right_ beside him even though there was enough room for seven people to stand without touching. Harkness glanced over at him and smiled. "Are you going to choose a floor or should we just stay here all night?"

Wilson leapt forward, pressed the ground floor button, and retreated to the other end of the elevator. "Uh, so, what brings you to the States, Captain Harkness?"

"Call me Jack, I insist. And just work."

"Strange line of work bringing you into a hospital... Jack. I've spoken to Cuddy, and she isn't expecting you. What are you doing here?"

"Gwen's sick."

"That was after she arrived."

"Who says our business is with Cuddy?" Harkness looked uncomfortable. Finally.

"Now you sound like you're a hit man."

Harkness burst out laughing. "No, our business is to save lives."

"Then what--"

"Give me a kiss."

"_What?_"

"It's only fair: you give me a kiss, I give you the truth."

"I'm not kissing you."

"Why? You don't find me attractive?"

Wilson moved in front of the emergency stop button in case Harkness had any designs on it. Pushing it to trap them together seemed the sort of action House might take--that is, if Wilson had ever contemplated him and House in such a scenario. Which he hadn't. He definitely, most certainly hadn't. Much. And only because you never knew what House might do next.

Harkness noticed his shift in position. "Now you've foiled my brilliant plan." He didn't move. He just grinned, as though he had Wilson right where he wanted him. Now Wilson knew there was more to this than simple flirting, but what could Harkness want of him?

"What were you arguing with House about?" Wilson asked. Harkness' smile flickered for the briefest of instances, and Wilson saw an edge of caution enter his gaze.

"He was being stubborn," Harkness said, looking hurt.

Wilson wasn't about to let him go that easily. "House isn't stubborn without good reason." _Oh no, I really hope he doesn't tell House I said that._

"Something makes me think you'd kiss me before you let House know you said that. You'd never hear the end of it."

Damn it. Harkness took a step closer. Wilson put up his hands. "You're not serious."

"Don't worry, it'll be our little secret." 

And somehow, Harkness slid into his arms, turning them from a barrier into an embrace. Their lips met, and the captain blocked out the world. His scent, his touch, his weight, everything about him was overpowering. Wilson groaned. This wasn't supposed to be happening, but he felt his arms tighten around the other man's back, and he let himself be pushed back against the wall. He opened his mouth and began to kiss him back, and though Jack wasn't House, something about this felt right in a way he'd never imagined possible. He could lose himself in the feel of skin against skin.

_Ding_. The doors rumbled open, but they sounded as though they were a million miles away. _Should've hit the emergency stop,_ he thought, though, of course, nobody would be in the lobby at this late hour.

"Wilson?"

At the sound of the female voice, Wilson pushed Jack away. The man clearly realized Wilson was flustered, and he loosened his grip enough to fall back when shoved. Jack's face was flushed, and his hair was a mess. Wilson's gaze lingered on him a little longer; he'd never known a brief kiss could cause such a mess. He wondered what he himself looked like and doubted he could pass this off as an unwelcomed advance. He was surprised to realize he didn't particularly want to.

Then he saw the nurse who was standing there, and his embarrassment arrived, late but in full force.

"Uh, hello Tracy," Wilson said. _Damn elevator._ If he recalled correctly--and he really wasn't as good with people as House and Cuddy made him out to be; after all the human brain could only store so many hundreds of faces and histories without forgetting something--Tracy had been tearfully confiding in Wilson for the past several weeks about her boyfriend of seven years, whom she'd caught cheating on her with…

_Oh no_.

Tracy slapped him and stormed off in tears. Yeah, she was definitely the one whose boyfriend was gay.

"Girlfriend?" Jack asked, sounding doubtful.

"Uh no." Wilson rubbed his cheek.

"You're just a delightful people person."

"Not anymore."

Jack grinned. "Trust me, women love a little flexibility. And if word gets around, you might get your chance with House."

Wilson groaned. Was it that obvious? _Yes,_ a little voice in his mind replied, _it really, really is._

Well, that was just _great_.

**--**

The attendant at the impound lot was not pleased at being called back after closing time. It'd taken multiple phone calls and a threat from the Governor's office to reunite Tosh and Monty with their cars. At first, Tosh was outraged at how New Jersey politicians wielded their special privileges with such a lack of concern for ramifications. She'd even dodged Monty's charms long enough to phone a shocked complaint back to Ianto who wryly responded that Torchwood did the same thing. After some thought, Tosh filed this observation under the category of "To be processed later" and returned to Monty.

The stadium-lights overhead cast the lot in a harsh light. The attendant kept giving them surreptitious, dark glares as they paced to the end of a row of vehicles. There, Tosh identified her Toyota Sienna rental and Monty his Honda Civic. Monty raised an eyebrow at her.

"A white minivan?"

"The contract lists it as 'Arctic Frost Pearl.'"

"Does that make soccer moms feel sexier?"

Tosh shrugged as she unlocked the car. Monty slid open the side passenger door, whistled, and leapt in. He leaned over the driver's seat. "Dear god, _you're_ not a mother, are you?"

"I wish." Tosh turned to look at him. "Children would be so much easier to drive around."

"Who are you with, then?"

"Coworkers."

"Oh, that can't be good."

"I know. My boss keeps asking 'Are we there yet?' If he was my kid, I'd have spanked him long ago, but company policy stipulates that all co-workers may give back as many spanks as are administered."

Monty laughed. When Tosh didn't, he asked, "You're kidding, aren't you?"

"Uh." Tosh blinked. "Oh, yeah! Of course."

Monty slid his hands along the seat. "Nice texture, good support; I'd buy this car if I had a family." When Tosh didn't respond, he added, "That's my subtle way of declaring myself available."

Tosh still didn't respond. Monty at least had the grace to look embarrassed. "I guess that's your subtle way of saying you're not interested."

"No, no, it's just… I've had a bad run with relationships."

"I dated a mob double-agent. The political fallout was hell."

"I fell in love with a co-worker who has slept with everyone woman in the office except me."

"My college sweetheart tried to kill me by burning down my house and blowing up my car."

"I dated a serial killer who liked to eat people's hearts."

"The girl who burned down my house was dating me because I looked like her dad!"

"The serial killer was an alien, and I still cried when she got sent to the middle of the sun!"

"You dated a lesbian alien?" Monty goggled. "That's amazing!"

That wasn't the reaction Tosh was expecting. "You believe in aliens?"

"How do you not? They're all over the news these days, but wow, to have actually slept with an alien. How was it? Was it sticky?"

"It's always sticky."

"Good point. Would you be up for a threesome?"

"Not as a first time."

Monty leaned forward. "What did the alien look like?"

Tosh crossed her arms. "Are you interested in me or the aliens?"

"Do I really have to choose?"

"Out of the car." Tosh started the ignition.

Monty chuckled and climbed out, but he leaned back in through the window. "You said you're from Wales; do you have a place to stay?"

"No."

Monty showed her two room keys. "I didn't feel like driving back to Newark tonight, so I booked a hotel. There's two beds, so it doesn't have to be awkward unless you want it to be."

"I should be back at the hospital."

"I have to get back to work early in the morning anyway. Your coworkers will be too busy getting over the backaches they have from sleeping on chairs all night to realize you've been gone. Why not get one up on them for once? It's free lodgings, no strings attached."

Tosh hesitated, but only for a moment. Then she snatched one of the keys and rolled up the window. "You lead, I'll follow."

Monty winked. "If that's the way you like it."

**--**

Gwen didn't want to sleep; she'd been unconscious for too long, and she wished she could stretch her legs. Owen wouldn't let her out of bed, though, and she knew he was right to insist. The room was dark now, and so silent she would never have guessed Owen was present if she hadn't seen him enter the room. The others were gone; Tosh had gone to retrieve their car, Jack had left on what he claimed was official business, and Ianto had doubtless been sent to hack the hospital computers so they'd erase all record of their presence once she was discharged.

"Owen?" she whispered, her throat dry and her voice cracked.

She heard a chair slide against the ground as Owen leapt up. "Do you need a glass of water?"

"No." She raised a hand, searching in the dark, until she felt Owen's shirt and tightened her fingers around his arm. "I want… salvation."

"You never struck me as especially religious," Owen's voice had an edge to it. Gwen let go, but Owen didn't move away.

"If I was, I'd say this was divine punishment."

"For what?" But he knew. They both knew, but she was the only one who cared.

"I, I tried to tell him, but I could only do it knowing he wouldn't remember in the morning."

Owen moved away. A few seconds later, she heard a _swoosh_ and moonlight flooded into the room. His silhouette hesitated a moment before he partially re-closed the blinds. In the half-light, he pulled up his chair and sat at her side. She turned her head, and they were face-to-face. She pulled back, ever so slightly, and Owen's cheek ticced. She laughed; it wasn't funny, but she couldn't help it.

"Why me?" he asked. "Of everyone available, why me?"

"You were the _only_ one available. You always were. Not anymore, though. No one's available now, except the one who's in a committed relationship. Ironic, don't you think?"

"What about Tosh?" Owen looked like he was joking, trying anything to lighten the mood and change the conversation.

"You think I didn't consider it?"

Owen raised an eyebrow. She continued, "She wouldn't say 'yes.' But I'd ask anyway, just to find something, anything. I can't find release even in an orgasm, maybe there's something in the lack of one."

"There's just emptiness."

"It's always empty. God, there's nothing. That's the first thing I learned from Torchwood: There's nothing, just the darkness waiting for you, knowing you have to come eventually. Everyone has to, except Jack, but look in his eyes, and you can see it; it's already there, it already has him. When Lisa electrocuted him, he died. He _died_, Owen, and do you know what he told me when he came back? He said, in that instant, when he thought he wouldn't survive, he said he'd never felt so alive. How old do you think he is?"

"You envy him."

An involuntary sob escaped her. "I'm empty already; what's there to lose? But I don't want to die, Owen, I don't."

"You're not going to die."

"Why can't I tell Rhys? What would he do? Who would believe him if he told? I can't do this; it's like living a double-life. It was like I was unfaithful, even before I slept with you, because I'd become a different person, had a different life, and I couldn't share it with him. I lied to him. It was so easy. I lied to him, and when I slept with you, it only confirmed what I already knew. It was like I had to do it, because if I didn't, the job wasn't real, but once I did, it was all too real, it became everything."

"Gwen, it'll be all right."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Be sure."

Owen looked pale, though maybe that was just the moonlight. Finally, he nodded.

"What would you do if you could find Diane?"

"I'd bring her back. Or I'd go with her."

"You'd leave everything behind to be with her?" she asked. He nodded. "And then what? What would you do? Find another adventure, one after another, jumping through rifts until the end of time? Or do you think, this time, you could make her settle down?"

She saw anger in his face, but he restrained himself and she saw it wasn't just because she was ill. So there'd been something between them after all. She'd felt it, just a little, a sort of haunting pull even after she'd stopped having any feelings for him. She'd always wondered if he felt the same. Then it was true; you couldn't just have casual sex and pretend everything was the same. At least, you couldn't in the twenty-first century. She suspected you couldn't in any other century either, Jack's words be damned. It was a human thing, or maybe a living thing; you had to have a connection to be alive, and what embodied life more than the act of procreation?

"I don't know," Owen replied. "That's not what she'd want. I think she was meant to be alone; we'd go our separate ways again, together one night for every thousand apart."

"Do you suppose that's love? To be with each other even when you don't know when, or if, you'll see each other again? Or is love the monotony of being with someone day after day, knowing each other inside out and letting the mystery and excitement fade?"

"What does it matter, Gwen?"

"It matters! It matters because that's all I am! Jack hired me to be the human connection, but I don't feel connected to anything anymore. This job, it changes you; how can it not? And on the outside, I go through the motions, and I seem different, but inside, I'm just like every one of you, yet I can't even be that because if I admit I'm just like you, then I've become someone nobody wants me to be! And if I'm going to die, I want to know it was worth it. I need to think there's something beautiful, something romantic out there. I need to believe in the bright light at the end of the tunnel, to think there are people waiting for me when I die and to know there are people mourning me back here."

"You're not going to die."

"I need something to hold on to, but it's all just darkness! How can anyone cope, knowing that, knowing there's nothing and everything's futile?"

"It isn't futile," he said weakly.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"Make me feel alive."

"But Gwen, you just said--"

"I know what I said, but if I can't have that, I have to take what I can get."

"You're not thinking properly."

"Oh, Owen, you'd be surprised what the prospect of dying can do to the mind."

"It confuses it. You don't want me."

"Then who do I want, Owen? Do you know me better than I know myself? My brain's not addled."

"You want Jack. You want the man who can't die and his kiss of life."

"I kissed him back after Abaddon."

"And now you want me to do the same for you? I'm not your prince in goddamn shining armor."

"Then leave. Go, and leave me to the darkness." She stared him straight in the eyes and refused to look away. She could see the conflict in him. He burned with self-loathing as he leaned forward to kiss her, but she grabbed him and pulled him in anyway, because when she closed her eyes, she couldn't tell the difference between a kiss of love and a kiss of pain.

**--**

They ended up going to a little coffeehouse just down the street from the hospital. It was almost closing time, and they were the only patrons present, but Wilson didn't expect anyone to give them a second glance. Jack had stopped any semblance of flirting after Tracy, though Wilson wasn't sure why. There was no logical explanation for Jack's behavior, which kept Wilson suspicious, but for some reason, he found himself trusting the captain more and more.

He ordered a coffee, preferring to make his own meals even if it meant going hungry a little while longer. Besides, the food here wasn't that great, but Jack seemed to have changed his mind about sightseeing and asked to go to the nearest restaurant instead. When the coffee arrived, Jack made some comment about how good his associate was at making coffee, "among other things." Wilson didn't follow up on that.

Jack got a Reuben, and now Wilson was sure he was just trying to mess with his mind. Nevertheless, their kiss burned in his memory, and it kept him from walking out.

"So you want to talk about it?" Jack asked.

"About what?"

"Oh, you're kidding. First time Gwen kissed a girl, she spent the next week freaking out about it. Of course, I guess it didn't help that she kept catching Owen replaying footage of it on his computer."

"Where do you work?" Wilson exclaimed.

"Cardiff." Jack took a bite of his sandwich. "Oh, god, this is awful."

"Well, I did say--"

"No, it doesn't taste particularly bad, I guess, but I mean, _sauerkraut_? What sort of sandwich has sauerkraut in it?"

"Then why'd you order it?" Wilson asked, thinking, _Aha, his plan is backfiring._

"I dated someone named Reuben once, amazing sex, she could do things with her thighs that you wouldn't believe."

_Oh dear god._

"I've always heard that great food can be as good as sex, so I thought, why not give it a try?"

"Um…"

"So why House? No offense, but from what I've seen of him, he's an asshole."

"Why's it any of your business?"

Jack leaned closer. "Do you want to talk about it?" It was a challenge as much as a question, but he did seem to care, which was more than he could say about anyone else at the hospital.

Wilson shrugged. "There isn't much to say. I met him years ago, before he ever started working here, before he had the cane. I was married at the time, first marriage. I loved her, don't get me wrong, but the passion was never there. I married her shortly after my residency ended, and it was a life, you know. You get a job, a wife, a family, and you live happily ever after." Jack smiled and looked wistful. "I don't know what happened, but I was happy around him. When he listened, he could make me feel like I was the only person in the world, and even when I know he's pretending, I don't care. And when he laughs, god it feels so good, like I've done something really right.

"Christmas Eve, we hosted a party. House came with Stacy. Everyone thought I had too much to drink, but really, I only had enough to settle my nerves. The rest was water. Later that night, we were alone, I told him enough to let him guess I had feelings for him, said just little enough to have deniability the next day. It was silly, immature, but I didn't want to let the feeling go. He rebuffed me--you can imagine how it turned out--and I, I did the stupidest thing imaginable. I went and had an affair with this other woman I met at the party, the friend of a friend, that sort of thing. I told myself I was just feeling trapped in my first marriage, but the feeling wouldn't go away.

"After the divorce, I shut that part of myself away. It was like one of those dreams you have when you're a kid, when you tell your parents you want to be an astronaut one day, an explorer the next, a scientist the third. It became something I stopped seriously believing would happen, so I made myself content to live with what I had. I loved all the women I married, all the women I slept with, but there's so many types of love. I cared about them, and I was never unfaithful; it was just that one time, and I still regret it, because there was only one person I really wanted.

"I guess my discontent came through in the end. All my marriages ended in divorce. My wives cheated on me instead. I didn't feel too bad, though, because at least they didn't need me anymore. As long as they were happy with _someone_, I didn't betray them, I didn't lie to them, and it was all right to move on. I slept with one of my patients a while back, when she was in so much pain she could barely take care of herself. Night after night, I could barely sleep, because I was afraid I would wake up and find her dead, not from the cancer, but from my pain medications failing her. But she needed me, and I could keep her body and soul alive, just barely, but it was enough for me anyway. She recovered long enough to live her dream of traveling the world, and we parted ways because she could die happy without me.

"And through it all, House was never there for me. I've lost my job for him, had my practice shut down, had the police after me. I've broken the law so many times for him, and I've lent him so much money, and I want to believe he cares, but he makes it so hard. Most times, I just write it off as House being House, but sometimes, I just want to walk away, forget, start over, except I'm already doing that and it isn't working and I can't bring myself to leave him. I can't stop watching over him, I can't stop wanting to protect him. He's destroying himself with his addiction and his loneliness, and he won't let anyone else in, and there's _nothing I can do_. If I stay around him, he'll destroy both of us in the end. That's not something I think, that's something I _know_. But I think I can live with that."

Wilson took a deep breath and downed the rest of his coffee. For a moment, a panic rose up in him as he wondered what he'd just revealed to an almost complete stranger. Force of habit helped him contain the fear. Finally, he brought his eyes up to look at Jack, and he was surprised. Jack looked sympathetic, but it wasn't the sympathy of shared experience. It was more a sort of empathetic pity. Intellectually, Jack felt sorry for him, but emotionally, he didn't understand. It was as though this sort of longing was alien to him, and in that moment, Wilson knew he'd rather have had Jack laugh at him. In that moment, he'd never felt so alone, and then, shame flooded through him. _He tricked me. It was all a lie, and I fell for it._ He pulled out his wallet and dug out a twenty. Jack stood.

"What are you doing? I--"

Wilson threw the bill onto the table. "It's all right; I don't want to owe you anything." Before Jack could say another word, he turned and ran out of the restaurant, nearly bowling over a young man in a suit. Only after he'd passed him did he match the face with the panicked fellow who'd burst into coma guy's room. Did he have something to do with Jack, too? No, he wasn't going to think about that. He didn't want to know. He didn't care. He had no intention of having anything to do with Harkness again.

He ran all the way to the parking lot, and his breathing never slowed during the entire drive home. He barely made it back to his apartment before his gasps turned into wracking sobs, and he slammed his fist against the dashboard again and again, but nothing helped. Finally, he just gave up striving for self-control and with his forehead against the steering wheel, he let the tears flow.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, but some time along the way, a heavy storm started pouring raindrops down on his car, their _pitter-patter_ punctuating his own unsteady breathing. The rivulets down the windshield blurred into a flood of grey, and without lifting his head, he reached out and hit the lock on the door. He sat a while longer, lost in thought.

That kiss, it all went back to that kiss on the elevator. In the few moments they were together, Wilson could almost pretend Harkness was House. Jack smelled nothing like him, felt nothing like him, but the imagination was a powerful thing. _One night, just one night and…_ And what? Wilson was pragmatic enough to realize one wouldn't be enough. He wanted forever. _One night, and I'll make House a believer._ A dry laugh escaped him at that thought. He sniffed. _House doesn't believe in anything, and I'm not going to change that._

Jack. He closed his eyes and tried to picture House, but the image blended with Jack's face. He tried to force his memory, but that just made House's face fade further. He shook his head and tried to recall the touch of Jack's lips, and he whispered, "Greg."

He turned off the engine and put the keys in his pocket. He squeezed between the front seats as he crawled to the back of the car, and there, he lay down and tried to pretend there would be no tomorrow. It was cold and wet and lonely, but it was better than his apartment right now. Maybe he shouldn't have moved out of House's apartment. The company was worth the abuse. He had no excuse to go back now, though. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. He curled up and closed his eyes. In time, darkness fell, and for a few hours, Wilson forgot his troubles.

**--**

The hotel room was surprisingly large. Monty was amused and laughed when he saw her looking around in appreciation.

"That bed's yours," he said, pointing toward the one closer to the door. "I hate smoke detectors."

Tosh looked up and saw one blinking innocently above the indicated bed. "So as long as I stay there, my virtue will be safe."

Monty made an elaborate bow. "Your virtue will always be safe with me, my lady."

Tosh approached the bed and sat down gingerly. It was soft but firm, though she found the sheets too thin. Monty bounced across the room and picked up a square plastic container. He opened the lid and ran back out of the room.

"Where are you going?" she asked, but he was already gone. Shaking her head, she removed her shoes and started fiddling with the lights between the beds, watching them turn on and off in various combinations as she rotated the switch. It looked like her life.

Monty returned with a bucket full of ice, "Ice! My favorite part of hotels!"

"Okay…" she said uncertainly.

"Says the woman playing with the light switch." He waved a plastic bag at her, which he didn't have before. "Toothbrushes. The receptionist was kind enough to provide some."

"Hotels have toothbrushes?"

"Only if you ask nicely."

"Really."

Monty sat down opposite her and pulled out one plastic-wrapped brush. "_I_ asked nicely. Did you?"

Tosh furrowed her brows in confusion. He grinned, rocking back and forth, and she made a mental note that he became more hyperactive the more tired he got. "Oh, you're kidding me."

"Ask nicely or you don't get a toothbrush," he said, waving his around. She followed the movement of his hand with her eyes, and when she was ready, she reached out and made a quick grab. "Hey!"

"You might be a man of words, but my job requires me to be a woman of action."

"Your job is catching aliens?"

Tosh froze. "What makes you think that?"

"Who else sleeps with aliens and talks about it as though it were normal? Sure, everyone denies it, but these organizations _have_ to exist. Don't worry, though, I won't ask about it. I'll pretend I don't know a thing."

Tosh relaxed a little, but Monty wouldn't be a governor's aide if he wasn't competent, and he had no reason to lie. _That's what I thought about Mary too_, she remembered, but she'd be careful this time. Still, no reason not to enjoy herself at the same time. She leaned forward. "So, about asking nicely…"

Monty's eyebrows went up. "Yes?"

She kissed him. It was a brief contact, almost chaste, but from his sudden intake of breath, she could tell it meant much more. She could feel her own pulse racing. "So how's that for asking nicely?"

"A woman of action indeed," he replied, one corner of his mouth lifting in a self-satisfied grin. "I don't suppose there's more of that coming?"

"Nope." Tosh went over to his bag, grabbed the toothpaste, and headed for the bath. "That was my thank you for helping me find the car."

"Oh. Oh, that's not fair."

"Life's not fair, Monty," she said, swaying her way out of sight. She counted to three and poked her head back out. "Maybe tomorrow night, if you ask nicely."

The toothbrush slipped very nicely from his grip.

**--**

Foreman was just gathering his things to leave for the day when Chase walked into the conference room, looking a little lost. 

"Have you seen Cameron?" he asked. "I wanted to give her the results on Gwen's bloodwork before I left."

"She left an hour ago," Foreman replied, looking around him in frustration. Chase, in a fit of unusual observational skill, noticed.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Have you seen my umbrella?" Foreman said, by way of answer.

"No. What's it look like?"

"It's black. And an umbrella. I don't know, I thought I left it right here, but I can't find it."

"Haven't seen it. Why did you bring an umbrella, anyway? It didn't rain all day," Chase pointed out. Foreman shrugged.

"It's supposed to rain tonight. I checked the weather this morning."

"You're kidding. It's been clear all day! Not a cloud in the sky!" 

"I'm telling you, it's going to rain." Foreman looked ready to give up searching for the umbrella. House had probably stolen it for himself; it wouldn't be the first time.

Chase had put away his bloodwork results and was putting on his jacket, getting ready to leave as well. "It's not! No way! I'd bet on it," he said confidently. 

"Fine, then. Let's bet on it," Foreman said, smirking as he walked toward the elevator.

"Are you kidding? I don't have money to throw around!" Chase protested, following him. "You've been spending too much time around House."

"We won't bet money, then. If I'm right, then you'll, I don't know, have to hit on the first department head you see tomorrow morning. Blatantly." Chase gaped.

"But that'd probably be House! I don't want to hit on House!"

"You're gonna back out, then?" Foreman challenged. The elevator doors opened on the first floor and they both exited.

"No," Chase grumbled. "But you have to do the same if I win!" Foreman agreed, and Chase suddenly pictured Foreman hitting on House and burst out laughing.

Foreman rolled his eyes. In unison, they opened the hospital's big glass doors and stepped out. On cue, there was a loud rumble of thunder and a _sheet_ of rain fell to the earth, with no other warning, completely soaking them.

"Well, shit," Chase noted.


	5. Chapter 3: All in the Head

**Chapter 3**

**All in the Head**

Chase seriously considered calling in sick for work the next day. In fact, he'd just made the decision to do so and turned off his alarm clock when his cellphone rang. Groggily, he groped around for it on his night stand. After a moment he located it and flipped it open.

"Hello?" he said, his voice slightly muffled by his pillow. He blinked several times to clear the sleep from his eyes.

"Chase," Foreman's commanding voice responded. "I know you're planning to renege on our bet! Just wanted to let you know that if you do, I'll make absolutely sure House knows all about your little crush on Cameron. I'll meet you in the parking lot at 7:30." With that, he hung up. 

Cursing quietly, Chase dragged himself out of his nice, warm bed and set about getting ready for the day and resigning himself to his fate.

Forty minutes later, he pulled into his usual parking spot. It was no longer raining, but the sky was still overcast and the air was foggy, and it looked as though more rain could be expected later that day. Chase thought it appropriate. Foreman sauntered confidently over to him as he was getting out of his car, an amused expression on his face. 

"You're not really going to make me do this, are you?" Chase pleaded, figuring it was worth a try. Foreman smirked at him.

"Oh, you're doing it," he said. They walked together down the lot, Chase trying to keep the pace slow to put off the inevitable for as long as possible. He could feel himself blushing already. 

Up ahead of them a short ways, a car pulled into a free parking spot and Wilson stepped out. He spotted them and gave a friendly wave. All of a sudden, Chase realized something and was hit with a wave of relief.

"Foreman," he whispered, "the bet was just to hit on the first _department head_ I saw! Not House!" He gestured at Wilson, who was busy locking his car. Foreman rolled his eyes.

"And you'd rather hit on Wilson than House, then?"

"I'd rather hit on _anyone_ other than House!" Chase said, as though the same were true of everyone.

"Fine," Foreman agreed, only a little disappointed. "Go for it. But remember, you have to make it obvious!" Chase nodded and started jogging over to Wilson.

"Doctor Wilson!" he called. "Wait up!" Wilson turned towards him. Foreman followed behind Chase at a steady pace, making sure he was within hearing distance. 

"Yes? " Wilson asked when Chase had caught up.

"Er," Chase began awkwardly. "I just wanted to say... how nice you look... today. Er." He took in Wilson's rumpled appearance and noted that he actually didn't look particularly good. Wilson gave him a strange look.

"Uh, thanks," he said. "Is that all?" Chase shot a panicked look at Foreman, not knowing what else to say. Foreman shrugged at him.

"Um, those pants make your butt look really good," he tried. Wilson's eyebrows shot up. Foreman was making hand motions at him and mouthing _Give it a pat!_ Sighing and giving up completely, Chase gave Wilson a friendly pat on the ass and an exaggerated wink. Wilson jumped a bit and his mouth opened and closed several times. 

With absolutely no warning at all, a pretty blonde girl stalked up to him and slapped him, hard. Then she gave Wilson the same treatment and stalked off again without saying anything. Chase was bewildered.

"What? What was that?" he asked wildly, his hand on his cheek. Wilson groaned.

"Tracy! Wait!" he yelled. Foreman was laughing so hard tears were rolling down his cheeks.

"What did I do? Who was that?" Chase wailed in confusion. 

"Tracy!" Wilson yelled again and took off after her, though it was obvious he wasn't going to catch her.

"What happened?" Chase demanded. Foreman couldn't seem to stop laughing.

"She slapped you!" he managed, clutching his stomach.

"I know _that_!" Chase said indignantly. "Oh, never mind. You're useless." Foreman watched Chase walk stiffly away, his hand still on his cheek, and doubled over in laughter yet again.

**--**

"All right, differential diagnosis people, come on," House said as he strode into the room. He paused, surveying the area. "Where's Foreman?"

"Here." Foreman waved from beneath the table. House raised an eyebrow. While Foreman was focused on House, Chase reached his leg past Cameron's and gave Foreman a sharp kick in the side.

"Ow!" Foreman exclaimed. "Cameron!"

Cameron looked ready to protest. House cut her off. "Don't want to know. Your umbrella is over there. I borrowed it yesterday. Differential, anyone? What might have caused an otherwise perfectly healthy young woman to suddenly stroke?"

Foreman stood up, triumphantly holding a pencil, and glared at House.

"Insulinoma could explain her vision," Cameron suggested.

"Glucose levels were normal." Chase walked over from the coffee machine, took a seat and started fanning himself with Cameron's folder. "Why is it so hot in here?"

"Could have just been caused by anxiety," Foreman said. "What's her job?"

"I'm actually not sure," Cameron said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "They were rather vague, despite being ridiculously detailed about everything else. Some kind of special ops." 

"Sounds potentially stressful to me."

"No, Foreman, she's not ghetto enough to be special ops." Cameron, Chase, and Foreman all ignored House.

"Her blood pressure levels were high. Hypertension commonly presents with anxiety disorders," Chase said. House glared at them. 

"Come on, you guys. That's _lame_. I finally agree to take the case, and the best you can come up with is an _anxiety disorder_? It's not anxiety." Foreman was denied the chance to respond when the door opened to reveal Owen.

"I'm joining you for the differential," he said as he entered the room, his steps confident.

"No. You're not." House glared.

"Yes, I am," Owen responded, ignoring House's stare and pulling up a chair.

"Don't think so," House said, hooking the arm of the chair with his cane and jerking it away.

"I am a fully-qualified doctor. And Jack wants me here."

"Oh, so you're such a little puppy you'll do everything he says? Will your master finally notice you and throw you a bone?"

"_I_ want me to be here," Owen replied sharply, matching House's glare with one of his own. "Gwen is my friend."

"A little more than that, if I'm to believe Doctor Cameron." Owen looked outraged.

"Calm down, you two!" Cameron cut in, worried the argument would soon escalate to an all-out brawl. "House, Owen is a doctor. It might be useful to have another perspective." House turned his glare on her, opened his mouth to issue some scathing comment, then paused and turned back to Owen.

"All right then, _Doctor Harper_," he said. "Tell us your brilliant ideas." Owen sat down, looking smug.

"I thought it might be an anxiety disorder. Our job--" He was cut off by House's snort of laughter.

"It's _not_ anxiety. Does anyone have any useful ideas?" Owen gaped at him. 

"It presents all the classic--" he started, but was cut off once again by House.

"Shut _up_, you moron. It's _not_ anxiety! Someone, _please_, be useful! Here, maybe this will help." He turned and began to list symptoms on the whiteboard:

**Stroke**

**Muscle weakness**

**Seizure**

**Mental confusion**

**Mood swings**

**Loss of color vision**

**Elevated blood pressure**

"Am I missing anything?" he asked. 

"Don't think so," Foreman said.

"I still don't see why it can't be anxiety!" Owen obviously wasn't used to the utter lack of respect. "We should at least make sure before we rule it out completely!"

"Hey, Harper, moron says what?"

"What?"

"Thank you." Owen and Foreman rolled their eyes. Cameron looked reproachful. 

"What?" Chase asked, looking confused. House snorted.

"Can we please get back to the differential?" Foreman pleaded as Cameron slapped her hand to her forehead and made a quiet noise of despair.

"Paraganglioma," she suggested, trying to bring the conversation back on course. "Would explain several of her symptoms."

"And most of her symptoms are neurological, so it would make sense," Foreman added.

"All right," House agreed. "Order an MRI. Any other ideas?"

"You forgot a symptom." Owen walked over to the white board, grabbed a marker and started to write. House whirled on him, brandishing his cane.

"Only I get to write on the board!" he yelled, whacking Owen over the head.

Owen raised his arms to protect his face. "What the fuck! You're crazy!" he shouted. House landed a blow on the hand that held the marker, causing him to drop it. He leaned over to pick it up and grinned in self-satisfaction. Owen took a step back. "What. The. Fuck. I was just going to add a symptom!"

"We didn't forget any," House stated with confidence.

"You forgot difficulty recognizing people. She called Ianto 'Jack!'"

"I didn't forget it. It's right there. 'Mental confusion.' They're the same thing." House pointed with the marker.

"They're not necessarily the same."

"Are too."

"Are not."

"You two are like children," Cameron cut in. House glared.

"Could be hyperthyroidism," Chase contributed. House made a face.

"Doubt it," he said. "Hyperthyroidism most commonly presents with major weight loss."

"It would explain the weakness, confusion, and mood swings, though. And she could have just recently started losing weight, so there hasn't been a significant enough change to be noticable," Chase argued.

"Fine, tell them to test her blood for TSH levels, if it makes you happy."

"It could be lupus. Or vasculitis." Everyone stared at Owen. "What?" he asked, staring back. House aimed another whack with his cane, and Owen had to jump to dodge it.

"Leave. Now." House sounded rather menacing.

"Fine!" Owen yelled, throwing up his hands. "You lot are all crazy! I give up! I don't know why I even bothered!" With that he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Almost immediately, he ran right into Ianto who, unfortunately, was carrying a hot cup of coffee that predictably ended up all over both of them. Frustrated and cursing, Owen stalked off down the hall without listening to Ianto's apologies.

He hadn't gotten very far before he rounded a corner and fell straight into an inconveniently-located manhole. His shout of surprise at finding one on the second floor of a hospital echoed in the hall for a few moments, and then the manhole vanished as quietly as it had appeared.

**--**

"We're just taking some blood samples for more tests," Cameron reassured Jack as she entered the room with Chase and Foreman trailing behind her. Jack nodded and stepped aside to let them through the door.

"Where's Owen?" he asked.

"He didn't come back here? He left before us."

"He's probably somewhere sulking," Foreman muttered.

Jack gave him a sharp look, but Cameron just sighed and said, "House and him had some words. You should know House doesn't take kindly to friends of patients trying to get in on the diagnosis process."

"Is House in his office then?" Jack asked.

"Should be," Chase replied, "he won't show up here often. It'll just be us."

Jack winked at him. "That's fine by me."

Chase nearly dropped the needle he was holding. He fumbled with it for a moment, came close to stabbing Foreman, then regained his grip. He glared at Jack, who was watching with amusement. "Oh no you don't," he told him. "I know what you did to Wilson."

Cameron looked up. "What'd he do to Wilson?"

Foreman mouthed, _Wilson's gay!_ Cameron's eyes widened. "No, I will _not_ go on a date with you," she replied. Chase slapped his forehead and Foreman let out a long-suffering sigh. Jack decided to leave them to it. As he left, however, he crashed right into Ianto, and they both fell, Jack landing on top of his colleague. As Jack pushed himself up, he felt wetness on his hands. He grinned at Ianto.

"Now come on, I know you're excited to see me, but this is ridiculous."

Ianto glared at him with unusual force. Most days, he gave as good as he got, but right now, he seemed in no mood to tolerate any of Jack's levity. Jack glanced down and saw the coffee stain down the front of Ianto's shirt.

"Oh." Jack offered Ianto a hand to help him up, but Ianto ignored it. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Jack grabbed his shoulder. "Ianto, you know I get concerned when you close up on me." 

Once again, Ianto defied his expectations and didn't calm down. Instead, he shook off his hand and kept walking. Jack had to jog to catch up. "Ianto?"

"I would hate to concern you, sir," Ianto said curtly.

"Did I do something wrong? Oh no, you're not actually upset I stole your tie, are you? I'll give it back, I promise--after it's been to the cleaners, of course."

Ianto rounded on Jack and slammed his fist against the counter of the nearby nurse's station. "I saw you last night," he hissed.

"Normally you like that."

"At the café! With that doctor! William, or Willard, or whatever!"

"Oh, Wilson."

"Fine, _Wilson_!"

"You were following me?" Jack asked. Gwen had warned him about this. _Workplace sex is not a good idea,_ she'd said. _Trust me, I know._ So did the rest of Torchwood Three, because they had quite an extensive security system, and Ianto was the only one who ever bothered to wipe unwanted records. Everyone else preferred just to watch.

"No, I wasn't _following_ you," Ianto exclaimed. "I was, I was... yes I was following you!"

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to know where you were going! It's my job to make sure you stay safe!"

"It's not like he can--" Jack paused as he realized he couldn't exactly announce he was immortal to the whole hospital, so he finished: "--stab me with... a chemo injection."

At this point, Jack noticed the surrounding area was unusually silent. He looked up and saw everyone staring at them. Everyone except an old man in a walker who was frantically hobbling away. Again. Then he looked over and saw the nurse sitting at the desk they were arguing over. She looked familiar, but it took him a moment before he placed her as the nurse who'd caught him and Wilson in the elevator. _Oh, not good._

"Are you _cheating_ on him?" the nurse asked Jack pointedly.

"No," Jack replied, rather sheepishly.

"You men are all pigs!" She slapped him, then turned to Ianto and handed him a card. "Here, give me a call if you need someone to talk to. I know how it feels." She burst into tears and ran away. A young intern noticed and ran after her, calling, "Tracy! Tracy! But I've been asking for your number for weeks!"

Tracy grabbed a cup from a passing patient and threw it in his face. The contents were disturbingly yellow. "Scum!"

Jack nodded to himself. "Well, Ianto, you did challenge me last week to show you a workplace stranger than the Hub."

"This isn't stranger; it's just more dysfunctional. And you're not diverting my attention that easily."

Jack looked him straight in the eye. "If I recall correctly, you were the one who said it was going to stay casual."

"You've been alive two hundred years--and I know they've been busy years--are you telling me casual sex has ever stayed that way? Someone always gets hurt, Jack, _always_."

"Do you want it to end?"

"No! I want to hear you say, 'I love you!' I don't care if you mean it, I just want to be more than a part-time shag."

"You've always been more than a part-time shag. But..."

"But you don't love me."

"I'm not going to lie to you. But last night..." Jack looked around. "It wasn't what you think."

"Then what was it?"

Jack smiled, even though he knew Ianto would be able to read what he was actually thinking. "Don't worry about Gwen's files; they're taken care of."

"That's cruel."

"It's you or him. You can't have it both ways."

"Neither can you, sir."

Well, that was more like the usual Ianto. He grinned, and this time, he actually felt it. Wilson might be easy on the eyes, but Jack knew better than to let his feelings get in the way of his work. Torchwood was his responsibility; everyone and everything else was expendable. He might not like it, but that was how it had to be. The world had to be ready.

"You believe me?"

Ianto smirked. "You know better than to lie to me, sir."

Jack kissed him lightly on the lips. "You'd better get out of those clothes before I do it for you."

He sighed as he watched Ianto leave. Ianto was a patient man, but somehow, Jack didn't think he would wait for him. In so many crucial ways, Jack differed from Lisa, perhaps in too many ways. Maybe it was for the best, but whether for him or for Ianto, Jack wasn't sure.

**--**

House left the conference room feeling extremely pleased with himself, not because the differential had produced any particularly exciting or interesting ideas, but because he had so successfully humiliated the annoying man who dared call himself a "doctor." One-upping people always left him in a good mood.

His mood was short-lived, however, as he was waylaid by Cuddy on the way to the cafeteria. 

"Look! A rich guy who wants to donate all his money to dying kids!" House tried. Cuddy was unfortunately too clever to fall for this.

"Right. House. You owe me at least three clinic hours today," she said, crossing her arms.

"Uhh... I can't! Wilson paged me a minute ago, he's dying of a heart attack. I have to go rescue him." House tried to push past her and make an escape, but Cuddy had the advantage of having full use of both her legs, and it was pathetically easy for her to catch him. He cursed under his breath.

"_Now_, House. Or I'll double your clinic hours for next week."

Seeing no immediate way out of his predicament, House submitted and made his way down to the clinic. A distracted nurse handed him a chart as soon as he got there and directed him to one of the exam rooms. He managed to swipe a couple lollipops when she turned her head. 

"All right, why the hell are you in here bothering me today?" he said as he walked in, throwing the chart onto the counter without bothering to look at it. 

"Stomach ache," said the man sitting on the exam table.

"Right, I suspected as much," House said. "Any other symptoms?" 

"No," the man said. House paused, a little disconcerted. There was something very off about the man, but House couldn't put his finger on exactly what. The slight monotone in which he spoke was a little odd, but not entirely unusual, and not nearly enough to cause the sense of unease he was feeling by itself. 

House took a minute to take in the man's appearance, and this disturbed him even more, though again he couldn't say exactly why. Individually, there was nothing remotely strange about any of the man's features, but when they were all put together on his face, they looked, in a subtle way, _wrong_. As if there was nothing at all to distinguish him from anyone else. No funny blemishes, no crooked nose, no tiny scars--none of the smaller features that all humans had in some form just from having lived. Everything about him was absolutely, definitively, normal. He looked to House--because there was really no other word to properly describe it--contrived.

"Right," House said slowly. "Lie down and indicate exactly where you feel this pain." The man did as he was told. House felt the area for a moment.

"You probably just have a cold," he said. "Any over-the-counter medication will relieve most of the symptoms, and you might try resting if you--" 

He stopped speaking abruptly as the man sort of _phased_ in front of him. Just for a millisecond, he was something large and reddish, and then it was as if nothing had happened. House blinked, feeling his brain rebelling and trying to dismiss what it knew it couldn't have possibly seen. House mentally told it to shut up.

"Yes?" the man prompted. He didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't acknowledge, his momentary failure to comply with the laws of the universe. House quickly collected his thoughts.

"Bed rest. Tylenol. That's it," he said, stood, and quickly exited the room. 

"Damn," he muttered to himself. "I knew I shouldn't have eaten Wilson's salad yesterday. It smelled funny. He's probably trying to poison me."

**--**

The parking structure was very well-lit for a parking structure. Ianto felt this was a crime; there were distinct rules by which the universe operated--parking structures were supposed to be dark, weevil-infested places where people got kidnapped, hospital administrators were supposed to be old, oblivious bureaucrats, and coffee was never supposed to be on your suit. It was as though Princeton-Plainsboro existed in some extra-dimensional realm where weird things happened and House existed, not that House was necessarily a bad person. As much as Ianto disapproved of House physically battering his co-worker, he had to admit it was quite amusing to watch from a distance.

Less amusing was Cuddy, who had shown up less than an hour after his run-in with Brenda the day before. She hadn't found him via his suit though; she'd reviewed the security footage instead. Once she'd established who he was, she'd been fairly polite, but she also made clear that he was to stay out of places where he didn't belong. She'd then noted that he could sprint quite well and asked whether he was physically fit, had a history of illnesses, or was interested in becoming a sperm donor. He wasn't sure why this was relevant to Gwen's case, but Cuddy had been quite insistent that he answer her questions.

His shirt grew increasingly sticky and cold as he searched for the rental car. After a period of confusion, he found it at the top of the car park, three floors higher than where Tosh told him she'd parked it. That was unlike Tosh, he thought. Then he saw a sign on a pillar next to the car that read "7B," exactly the location Tosh had told him. He looked up and saw a piece of roof four feet square hovering over the car, one corner attached to the pillar and the rest abruptly vanishing into thin air. As he watched, two sparrows chasing each other dropped from the sky and ran head first into the concrete. When they picked themselves up from the ground and he saw they were all right, he shrugged and opened the trunk.

Inside, he found Owen doubled over amidst the luggage.

"Ianto! Where the fuck am I? What did you do to me?" Owen tried to get up, but his hands and feet seemed to be bound together by some invisible force.

Ianto tugged at Owen, but he couldn't get Owen's head past the top of the trunk. Every time he tried, Owen would slam his head against thin air and curse louder. He did this a few more times for good measure before he gave up, shoving Owen into a corner so he could extricate a new suit from his travel case.

"Ianto! Get me out of here!"

"You seem to be stuck."

"Get me out of here!"

"I'll go get help."

"Ianto, you bloody tosser, you better--"

Ianto shut the trunk and walked away. Most strange.

**--**

Wilson opened the clinic door, sighing at the prospect of two more hours of clinic duty. Normally, this was something he enjoyed. It was an escape from the constant overhang of hopelessness that lingered around his chosen specialty. These were people for whom he could do more than just make them comfortable.

Today, however, he just wanted to get it over with. It had been an unnecessarily tiresome day, he thought, and certain events--and people--had been trying his normally limitless patience. After clinic duty was completed, he only had a few routine appointments and then he could go home and sleep. 

This first clinic patient was a fifty-three-year-old woman named Edith Thompson. Her chart showed no previous medical conditions, she wasn't running a significant temperature, and all her vital signs had been recorded as registering within normal ranges. 

"Hello, I'm Doctor Wilson," he said in a cheery voice as he walked into the room. "What seems to be the problem today?" When he actually caught sight of the woman, he inwardly groaned. The chart had failed to convey just how _big_ she was. Not overweight, but stocky, and _tall_. Definitely taller than him by at least an inch. And as if that wasn't intimidating enough, she was dressed as though she was a teenager, with a low-cut white blouse and a pastel blue miniskirt.

"Hello, _doctor_," she breathed, batting her eyelashes at him most obviously. 

He had to consciously keep himself from leaving and slamming the door behind him by telling himself that Cuddy probably wouldn't appreciate him acting like House. 

"I just have this terrible chest pain," Ms. Thompson continued. "Do you need to take a look?" She started unbuttoning her blouse and Wilson's subconscious shut down in sheer horror. _You have_ got _to be kidding me_, he thought. 

"Uh, this chart says you have a sore throat," he stuttered.

"I've changed my mind, big boy."

_The day started out so ordinary, too_, Wilson lamented to himself.

**--**

"So what's wrong with you?" House asked, trying to make clear that this question was rhetorical rather than literal. The patient, of course, failed to notice.

"Well, I think I'm coming down with a stroke," the man said.

The patient was young, about twenty-one, House estimated. He glanced at the chart. Damn--off by a year. That would most likely make him a college student. By the look of his lengthy and unwashed hair, set off against the contrast of 300 Gucci shoes, he was a spoiled rich brat who got off on pretending to be a new-age purveyor of philosophy or some other equally worthless major, and who desperately needed to unite with a group of fellow kool-aid drinkers to worship grass or something. And judging from his previous comment, he didn't deserve to be in college. All this led House to the most professional diagnosis that he was an Idiot-Who-Can't-Tie-His-Shoes.

"You're coming down with a stroke?" House repeated, on the off chance that this would make the man say something less stupid.

"Yes, I'm coming down with a stroke." Well, it was worth a try.

"And why would that be?"

"My arm tingles." The idiot held out his right arm. House whacked it. "Ow!"

"Does it tingle now?"

"No. It hurts."

"Did it tingle before it hurt?"

"Only in the mornings."

"Are you a social butterfly who's popular with people but trusting of strangers and _extremely gullible_?"

The idiot brightened. "Why yes! Are you a believer of physiognomy?"

"No, but apparently, some bunch of idiots who had nothing better to do with grant money decided that similar types of people share similar sleeping habits, namely that they sleep on their sides."

"I sleep on my side!"

"Do you cushion your head with your arm?"

"Yeah! Dude, you're like psychic or something!"

House whacked him again. "You're not _coming down_ with a stroke. When you sleep on your arm, you cut off circulation, so when you wake up in the morning, it tingles."

"Whoa, really?"

"Yeah, really."

"What should I do?"

House tilted his head, wondering if this idiot might flicker and prove to be other than human, because if not, many humanists would go to bed crying tonight. "Stop sleeping."

"Really?"

"Yes. I guarantee your arm will stop tingling if you stop sleeping."

"Great. Thanks, man!" The patient got up and clapped him on the back as he left the room. House glared. People really needed to stop doing that.

House stood and prepared to leave, but Jack Harkness slid in between the closing door and the exiting patient, and now House was trapped. "You're not getting those files," he snapped.

Harkness shrugged and flashed his teeth at him. "I'm over that."

For once, House felt a sudden urge to take care of his paperwork. He did not like this man, and it wasn't because he now had his arm around him. Or at least, not _only_ because of that.

"What are you doing?" House asked.

Harkness massaged his shoulders. "Your skin is very soft."

_Now,_ House thought, as Harkness moved into just the right position. With a flick of his wrist, he brought his cane whirling about to strike Harkness' temple. The man let out a yell and fell back, smashing several jars on the countertop behind him. House turned to survey him calmly and was pleased when he saw him rubbing his head madly.

"Don't touch me," he said again.

"And here I thought actions spoke louder than words." Harkness managed to summon up a smile, though House was pleased to note it was much less blinding than the one before.

"When around idiots, I sometimes feel the need to repeat myself."

"People usually respond favorably to me." Harkness started closing the distance between them again. House was alarmed. Most people responded rationally to violence; it was an appeal to fundamental instincts, the need for self-preservation and the like. At a slightly higher level, insults and demeaning comments created negative associations with House in most people's minds, and the slightly more intelligent avoided him for that reason. Clearly he needed to try a third approach.

There was only four feet between House and the door, and Harkness was not in the way. He made a mad dash, falling at the door handle rather than actually moving his legs. In a flash Harkness was at the door, and his foot kept it from swinging open any further. House sighed. "What do you want?"

"So we're at the bargaining stage. Almost at acceptance."

"Nobody's died, you moron, though your stroking colleague might if you don't let me out of the room."

"Your associates are running tests on her; they said you wouldn't be checking on her for a few hours yet."

House made a mental tick mark next to "tattle-tale" on the list of actions he predicted Cameron would take to get him to sleep with her. Creating tension came right after sleeping with Chase to make him jealous. House gave it three more months before she started to seduce him outright. He only hoped she wouldn't take lessons from Harkness.

"It's usually those who can't find any sexual partners who feel the need to brag about their attractiveness," House said.

"Maybe you should ask Dr. Wilson just how attractive I am."

House forgot about the door. "What?" Jack looked far too self-satisfied to be making it up, but House nevertheless told him, "You're lying."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

"Don't be fooled by all his divorces; Wilson's as Catholic as he's Jewish. He wouldn't even know what to do with you."

"So you haven't heard? I'm disappointed, House. I expected you to be up on workplace gossip. You like to have an edge over your colleagues, don't you? Or maybe Wilson's your gateway to the hospital, and damn, he sure ain't one to kiss and tell."

Their stand-off was quite rudely interrupted by a pretty blonde who looked too healthy to be here with a cold. Her shoulders were a little tight, and she walked with a shuffling gait, suggesting she was nervous about some embarrassing medical condition. The force of their attention probably didn't help her anxiety.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I'm sorry, the nurse told me this room was unoccupied and I could wait for--"

"Well, she was wrong!" House snapped. "Can't you see I'm here with a patient?"

"Hi, Captain Jack Harkness," Harkness offered her his hand. She shook it, looking confused. "It's nice to meet you, Miss…"

"Lucinda Davidson," she squeaked, blushing.

"Lucinda. May I call you Lucy?"

She nodded. This needed to be stopped. "Shoo! Your rash isn't an STD, it's just an inconveniently located fungus. Go find someone to write you a prescription."

Lucinda's eyes widened. She glanced at Jack, whose smile didn't even flicker. This man had issues.

Jack winked. "We'll talk later."

"Yeah," House said, "after I figure out what to do with his drug-resistant strain of gonorrhea." He slammed the door on the girl's shocked expression.

Harkness folded his arms. "Now you're stuck with me. How do you want to pass the time?"

House pulled out his portable television and turned it on. Harkness looked disappointed but nevertheless approached to watch over his shoulder.

"Ah, _General Hospital._ Great show. So sad when it ended."

House glanced at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, oops. Right. That's not for _years_."

**--**

_Don't call him. He'll call me during his lunch break._

"Here," Tosh said, handing Gwen her cell phone. "Can you keep this for me? And if anyone calls, tell them I'll call them back."

"Sure," Gwen replied. "But why can't you--"

"It interferes with my scans," Tosh said, as confidently as she could manage, given that she was lying through her teeth. She ran out of the room, ears straining for the sound of her ring tone even as she headed down the hallway.

She and Monty had gone to bed not long after they arrived at the hotel--separately, of course; Tosh had no intention of rushing into a relationship. The next morning was a flurry of activity as they exchanged phone numbers on hotel stationery and rushed to beat the sun to work. Surprisingly enough, the fact that Monty knew about the existence, if not the specifics, of Torchwood did not bother her. He didn't press her on details, and he seemed far more interested in her than her work. She felt good when she was with him. With Mary, there'd always been the sense that she was doing something wrong, something furtive, as though she was a child trying to keep her parents from finding out she'd done something against the rules. Monty was the sort of partner she could actually take home. Well, if he wasn't a politician, anyway.

They'd arranged to meet again that night. Tosh wasn't sure where this relationship was going, if anywhere, but she liked it that way. She could leave any time, only she knew she wouldn't. But knowing that she was in control, it made her feel safe in a way she hadn't since aliens crashed into Big Ben. All her life had been a blur after that, one covert organization after another, so many secrets, a million little weights that she couldn't put down, and each one seemed so light, she always thought, _Just one more will be all right._

When she returned to the hospital, Ianto told her about the coat rack he'd discovered, as well as how Jack had failed to track it down. She'd tweaked the scanner a little more as she sat with Gwen. Owen had disappeared, but she supposed he could be forgiven after staying up all night with Gwen. She only hoped he'd found somewhere comfortable to get some rest.

Keeping a wary eye out for Brenda, Tosh walked down hall after hall, trying to conceal the beeping device in her hands. She first searched the location Ianto had described, but though she picked up slightly elevated radiation levels, they were low enough to tell her the artifact had long since moved on. She next checked the readings outside each doctor's office, but there weren't even small spikes to suggest that the artifact had been on the floor apart from when it'd been by the coat rack. Maybe it'd been a doctor visiting from another floor...

Then she noticed a janitor wheeling a cart into a patient's room. The coat rack had been near a janitor's closet! She rushed back to the location, and sure enough, found a locked door. Maybe Ianto had been mistaken. She pulled out the lock-breaker Jack had let her bring from the Hub, and a _click_ told her the room was accessible. She pushed the door open and found herself in a small enclosure, barely one by two meters in area, and disappointingly devoid of alien objects. The beeping almost stopped entirely. She took a step in and waved her handheld over a few of the shelves, hoping for a pick-up in the readings. There was nothing.

Someone behind her cleared her throat. Tosh whirled around and found herself face-to-face with Brenda. The nurse frowned. "What are you doing?"

There was no escaping, and Tosh wasn't about to try to force her way past; she knew from yesterday how strong the woman's grip was. There was only one thing to do; Tosh stepped closer, wrapped her arms around Brenda, and brought their heads together. Brenda let out a soft gasp as their lips met. Tosh opened her mouth, and when she applied a little pressure, the nurse let the tip of her tongue slide through her defenses. She smelled different from any man or woman Tosh had kissed before; the scent of antiseptics drifted about her, and her skin was so clean it was almost tasteless. Nevertheless, there was nothing sterile about her technique. She most certainly knew how to kiss.

Tosh let the kiss stretch for a few more seconds before she let go and they broke apart. Brenda's face was emotionless, but the sternness was gone from her expression. Brenda brushed a finger against her lower lip and stared at Tosh. "I haven't been kissed in a long time."

Tosh smiled and waited. Brenda contemplated a moment longer before saying, "You shouldn't be here. You've been awfully bad, and do you know what we do to those who've been naughty?"

**--**

Ianto rushed into the lobby. Jack wasn't picking up his cell and Gwen had answered Tosh's, saying she'd left just a few minutes ago to search for Ianto's coat rack. Either of them would have the equipment to deal with Owen's situation, so he headed for the lift, figuring Tosh would be easier to track down. As the lift approached the first floor, however, he heard a curious sound growing louder.

"Ow, ow, ow, _ow_, _OW_." _Ding._

A dark, blurred shape burst through the opening doors and knocked Ianto to the ground. He blinked and saw it was Tosh. He looked past her and saw the doors close on Brenda.

"Got caught?"

Tosh brushed her hair from her eyes and pushed herself up. "I tried kissing her."

"You must not be a very good kisser."

Tosh looked indignant. "Brad Pitt couldn't move that woman's heart."

"What about Jack Harkness?"

"Someone say my name?"

They both jumped as Jack appeared from the direction of the hospital's free clinic. Ianto opened his mouth. "Owen's--"

"Jack!" Tosh exclaimed. The three of them froze as they realized Tosh's scanner was beeping madly. She ran up to Jack and scanned him. The screen lit up like fireworks. Ianto looked over her shoulder and did a few quick mental calculations.

"For that level of radiation, you have to have been exposed within the last twelve hours," he said.

"_Twelve_ hours?" Tosh said. "More like six."

"Not if he was in close contact for a long period of time."

"For that long, he'd have to have been on a date or something!"

Jack glanced at the device. "Yeah, well, there was Wilson."

"Wilson?"

"Just an oncologist. Strictly professional."

"Gwen has _cancer_?"

"Uh... no."

"Where else have you been today?" Ianto asked.

"Clinic," Jack replied. "Three nurses, two receptionists, House, another doctor, and Cuddy, briefly. This morning, there was Chase, Foreman, and Cameron, and I'll be damned if Cameron isn't obscenely flirty."

Ianto raised an eyebrow.

Jack raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm serious, the woman's on hormone pills or something. She's probably trying to make someone jealous."

"Maybe we should check the clinic before the objects of your flirtation walk out on us." Tosh said.

"As if."

Ianto sighed at Jack's self-esteem and sense of sexual entitlement. He might find it amusing, or at least exasperating, if it wasn't all that stood between them and the possible annihilation of the city.

**--**

Wilson's second clinic patient was no better than the first, which just seemed insanely unfair. He was a heavy, balding, middle-aged man who was, it appeared, very fond of shouting, and was definitely a first-class champion at it. He also had an alarming tendency to emphasize everything with obscenities. 

"I need a fucking physical!" he announced the moment Wilson stepped into the room. Slightly put-off by his attitude, Wilson glanced down at his chart.

"All right, Mister, uh, Humphrey." The man's name was Hubert Horatio Humphrey. The Third. Oh God. He couldn't conceive of a less suitable name. "I'm Dr. Wilson," he continued, "and I--"

"Goddammit, stop your fucking blithering and get on with it! I have to get back to work and you fucking snobs have already kept me waiting forty fucking minutes! I have to make a living too, you know!" The man seemed to naturally punctuate his sentences with exclamation marks, even when he wasn't actively trying to be loud, and since right then he was, Wilson doubted there was a single person within fifty meters of the room who couldn't hear every word. It wasn't even noon yet, and he already felt his frayed nerves deteriorating even further.

"Right, sorry. I'll try to make this quick," Wilson said, trying his best to remain polite and calm. He hurried to pull together the necessary papers. "What is your reason for getting a physical?" he asked.

"For my fucking insurance agency," the man boomed. "All I want to do is switch policies! Could the bastards make it a bigger fucking issue?" Hubert Humphrey continued to rant about insurance agencies in a voice that steadily rose in volume as he made himself madder and madder. In the wake of his venting, he seemed to have forgotten about his rush to return to his job. 

Wilson stared, transfixed in morbid fascination as the man's large, round face deepened from a pinkish hue into a dark red one. The excess skin on his neck wobbled menacingly, and a couple of thick veins throbbed and pulsed on his forehead. Watching him was like watching an erupting volcano that was somehow partly plugged, so that the liquid inferno inside was unable to force its way out all at once and was so very outraged to discover it had no choice but to erupt a bit at a time.

The man was so big he could probably have killed Wilson just by sitting on him. It was absolutely terrifying.

Then, sometime in the last five minutes, his tirade shifted from the inefficiencies of insurance agencies to the inefficiencies of doctors and hospitals. Roughly seven minutes in, Wilson, far past the end of his rope and fearing for his eardrums, decided he'd had enough.

"Do you want to get on with this or not?!" he yelled, the words exploding out of him. Typically, he immediately regretted it and felt bad. The man paused to stare at him in disbelief.

"How dare you speak to me that way, you fucking little shit! If you don't want my money, I'll go to another fucking hospital!"

"I apologize, it won't happen again," Wilson said wearily, all the anger having drained out of him to be replaced by absolute indifference. He didn't bother to point out that the clinic was free.

"You're damn right it won't! That's one of the things I hate about doctors; they all think they're so fucking high-and-mighty..." And unbelievably, the man was off again. Wilson rubbed his temples. He was seriously considering fetching House and letting them deal with each other when the man himself opened the door and popped his head in. 

House took less than a moment to assess the situation and then, ignoring Wilson's panicked arm motions, opened his mouth. "SHUT UP!" he roared, his commanding voice somehow carrying well over the noise Mr. Humphrey was making, which abruptly ceased. "Thank you," House said, before addressing Wilson. "What is going on in here? The nurses all think you're trapped in here with the Incredible Hulk! Apparently they're wrong, though. He's not the right color," he added.

Wilson struggled between relief and exasperation. His ears were ringing.

"Do you want to die?!" Humphrey shouted at House. House pretended to consider the question.

"I'd say dying is the last thing I want to do," he responded flippantly. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Coulda fooled me--" Humphrey hesitated and frowned. "Wait..."

"Anyway," House continued, turning towards Wilson again, "I'm getting lunch. You coming?" He reached over and used his cane to unhook his coat from a stand in the corner of the room. Catching Wilson's expression, he said, "Is it just me or is it hot in here? Not good for your temper." And with that, he left. Wilson engaged in a brief debate with himself over the merits of keeping his reputation versus the merits of keeping his sanity. Of course, he quickly decided on the inevitable and followed after House, pausing only to assure his fuming patient that he'd send another doctor in shortly.

Five minutes and a quick stop at the restrooms found House and Wilson on their way to the cafeteria. Wilson had calmed down considerably and was even on his way towards regaining his good mood. He and House were thoroughly immersed in a deep theological discussion.

"Every religious revelation must involve a tree, or at least be near one," House decided.

"Yes," Wilson agreed.

"Or a bush."

"A burning bush."

"A burning bush, maybe. That's why I don't trust Islam. There aren't many trees in the desert." House looked thoughtful. "Do cacti count?" he asked. Wilson hadn't considered that.

"Er, I don't think there are really cacti there. At least, not in the way we think of cacti. The Old Western type, you know."

"How big do they have to be to count?" House wondered. Wilson shrugged. 

"I don't think they'd count unless they have leaves."

"How many trees do you think had to be cut down in order to build this hospital?" House asked, apparently losing interest in the cacti.

"Dunno," Wilson said helpfully as they both rounded a corner. "Lots, I'd imagine. Not much of it is made of wood, I suppose, but even just the amount of paperwork involved..."

"Think of how many important revelations may never be able to happen now!" House tried hard to sound distressed.

"It is truly an unparalleled loss," Wilson agreed sadly. They both spotted Cuddy approaching them from the other end of the hallway. House adopted a wary look.

"Do you think that could possibly be construed as religious discrimination? Cutting down all those trees?" he asked.

"It is quite possible." Wilson plastered on a grim expression. Cuddy halted directly in front of them and opened her mouth to speak. House, sensing danger, attempted a preemptive strike.

"That sort of religious discrimination is intolerable!" he yelled, loud enough for anyone on that floor to hear, which badly startled Cuddy. "I am utterly disgusted by you, Doctor! All those trees!" With that, House turned on his heel with a grace that belied his bum leg and limped off as fast as he could manage. Wilson gave a snort at the flabbergasted look on his boss's face before running to catch up with his friend. 

"DAMMIT, HOUSE! YOU NEVER FINISHED YOUR CLINIC DUTY!" Cuddy yelled after them as they escaped.

**--**

They split up, Ianto heading for the patients waiting in the lobby while Tosh checked the staff and Jack burst into exam room after exam room. When Ianto's search yielded nothing, he headed past the reception desk to help Jack. Thus far, none of the nurses had noticed Jack's incursions, but he doubted that would last long; the sooner they finished their search the better. He was about to enter one of the rooms when Jack ran out of the next one over, his wristband beeping.

Jack grabbed a passing nurse. "Excuse me, which doctor was in here? He examined me earlier, but I didn't catch his name, and I realized I had a question for him."

"You didn't get his name? That'd probably be Dr. House, then."

"No, no, he was in another room. I remember because he made someone cry and she told me, 'If you see a doctor with a cane named House, run as fast as you can.'"

"Oh, well let me check then."

"Thank you." Jack and Ianto followed her back to the desk. She flipped through the files and nodded.

"The last five patients in that room saw Dr. Wilson."

"I told you," Ianto said.

Tosh ran up to them. "I got nothing."

"It was Wilson." Jack said. "Come on, let's go."

"Brenda's on the oncology floor," Ianto and Tosh said at the same time.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Cowards." He ran off. The two of them reluctantly followed.

When they entered the main lobby, Tosh froze. Ianto glanced at her, then followed her gaze to see a handsome young man waving at her from the front door. He remembered she'd been gone last night.

Jack noticed too. "Wow, Tosh," he said approvingly, "you've been busy. It's the American accent, isn't it?"

The man entered and ran up to Tosh, kissing her on the forehead. "Are these your coworkers?"

"Uh, yeah," Tosh said, still looking nervous. "This is Jack and Ianto. Jack and Ianto, meet Monty Pike."

"Nice to meet you," Monty said, shaking Jack's hand.

Jack grinned. "Nice to meet you too, Monty."

Tosh shook her head. "No flirting, Jack."

"When were you going to tell us you'd met someone?" Jack asked, before adding in a faux whisper, "And so hot, too."

"No. Flirting."

"I don't suppose I could pry Toshiko away for an hour?" Monty asked.

"Did you drive from the capital?" Tosh said.

Monty shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. "Yeah, well, it's been a slow day."

"There's sort of been an emergency," Jack said. "And--"

"Jack," Ianto interrupted. "I think you might want to let her go."

Jack stared at Ianto in confusion, and in the ensuing silence, they all heard it: a double shrill, insistent beeping from Jack and Tosh's hands. As one, they both brought their scanners closer to Monty, and the beeping grew louder and more frequent.

"Uh, what's that?" Monty asked.

"Never mind," Jack and Tosh said, shutting off their scanners.

Jack smiled. "Special scanners; they detect sexiness."

Ianto saw Tosh give Jack an incredulous look that Monty didn't see. The young man looked extremely pleased and was much too focused on Tosh to give the comment any extra thought. He offered her his hand, which she took with one last glance at Jack, and they headed out the door together.

"Come on, stop staring at his ass," Jack told Ianto. "We have an oncologist to intercept." 

**--**

Wilson and House retreated to Wilson's office, figuring Cuddy would expect them to hide somewhere less conspicuous. Wilson sighed in relief as House slammed the door. He had no patients waiting to meet him, and though he'd left clinic duty an hour early, he could make it up later. At least House wasn't in an argumentative mood; he might actually get some peace, now.

He heard the lock _click_. He looked up and saw House leaning against the door with a self-satisfied look. Oh, this was not good.

"Word 'round the water cooler says you've been making out with my patient's boss," House said. "I'm sure there's something in the Hippocratic Oath against it."

"It also says not to give women abortions."

"Did you just conveniently forget to deny my accusation? Oho, Wilson! You mad sex dog."

"Oh god..."

"I heard Dean from pediatrics fancies you. You could be James and Dean, rebels without the sense to run away from bratty children."

"It was just one kiss."

"That what you told your first wife?"

"You know what, House? I don't have to put up with this." Wilson stood up. When House refused to budge from the door, he pushed House out of the way, causing him to collapse onto the sofa. House looked indignant but Wilson shook his head. "There's a reason I didn't talk to you; I'd hoped you'd be at least a little bit understanding, but I should've known that was too much to hope for. Come back when you have something supportive to say."

Wilson unlocked the door and stepped out. He sighed, wondering where he could go now. House would be waiting in his office when he went back in, that much he knew for sure. He might as well return to the clinic and maybe go home early. Yes, that sounded like a good idea.

He turned to head for the elevator and immediately ran into Jack Harkness.

"Take off your coat." Jack demanded.

"What? No!"

"It's urgent!"

Wilson turned and ran.

"Ianto!" Jack called.

A man in a suit appeared in the intersection ahead and charged Wilson. Wilson dodged to one side, but the other man was too fast. Ianto tackled him, slamming him against the floor. Their combined momentum sent them skidding backward into an approaching nurse who screamed and ran away.

It was all too much. Wilson screamed. "Get the fuck off me!"

He threw a wild punch that sent the other man flying. Clambering back onto his feet, he saw Jack was rapidly closing the distance between them. There was no time to run. Still in a blind rage, Wilson unhooked his stethoscope and threw himself at Jack, wrapping the cord around his neck. He slammed the captain against the wall, applying his full weight against his chest to keep him from moving.

"Stop stalking me!" Wilson yelled.

Jack head-butted him. He cried out, falling backward, and he felt a pair of strong arms grab him and pull him back. Still blinking stars from his eyes, he couldn't recover in time. Jack pressed some angular device against a door and pulled it open, revealing a janitor's closet. His associate gave Wilson a push, and he staggered in. Jack followed and shut them in. Wilson backed away, suddenly a little frightened.

"Did you pick up any strange artifacts in the past two days, under mysterious circumstances?" Jack asked.

Wilson tilted his head in confusion. "What? Uh, no."

"Then you won't mind if I check your pockets?" Jack asked. "Really, I just need to see your coat."

Wilson hesitated a moment, then shook off his coat and handed it over. Jack rummaged through his pockets, and when he found nothing, he looked upset. He ran his wristband over the coat, and it beeped wildly.

"Empty your pockets, please?" Jack said.

Wilson complied, realizing the urgency in Jack's voice meant this encounter was strictly professional. There was only his wallet and his keys. Jack scanned them quickly, then had him put them back.

"That's strange," Jack muttered to himself.

Suddenly, there was an urgent knocking on the door.

"Jack! Get out of there! She's com-- _aaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiieeeeerrghhghhhhhhhhh_!!"

The door flew open to reveal Brenda, the nurse.

"Why hello," Jack said brightly, "I'm-- _ow ow OW_!"

With Brenda's fingers tight around his right ear, Jack had little choice but to allow himself to be guided out of the closet. Once he was outside, she slammed the base of her hand against his back, and the captain went flying. Wilson felt himself relaxing in relief when she turned back toward him. He felt his heart jump into his throat.

"I expected better from you, Dr. Wilson," Brenda said.

"Uh, I swear, I wasn't-- oh, can I just please go?" He tried to edge past her, but she grabbed his shirt and pushed him back against the shelves. In his terror, he couldn't take his eyes off her, but he heard the door squeak shut.

"You've been a naughty, naughty boy, Dr. Wilson." 

Wilson whimpered and shut his eyes. This day could not end soon enough.

**--**

As soon as they were out of the hospital, Monty pulled Tosh aside and looked around furtively. "There's something I need to show you." He opened his briefcase and rummaged through the contents before withdrawing a metallic, rod-shaped implement about seven centimeters long. It was tapered at one end and ended with a round extrusion on the other, but there were no markings or buttons on it. Tosh could see no way of activating it, though there _must_ be some method, because plain as it looked, they both needed but a glance to realize it was alien in origin.

Tosh ran her handheld over the object, and sure enough, the artifact was practically glowing with Rift energy. Monty grinned; so he'd known what she and Jack were doing.

"This came through just hours ago," Tosh whispered. Monty nodded confirmation.

"I was leaving the governor's office when I heard a soft zapping sound. There was a bit of a burnt ozone smell, too, and when I checked behind the secretary's desk, I saw this on the ground, smoking as though it were burning a hole in the carpet, though there was no damage."

"This is not good," Tosh said. "This came through from Cardiff. One artifact this far away from the Rift is bad, two means... well, it's never happened before."

"What about a few months ago with the aliens over the Taj Mahal and all that? I overheard the governor making some calls and I'm sure he said 'Cardiff.'"

"That was... special."

"So, what, is the space-time continuum coming apart and the universe preparing to end?"

"Nothing that drastic. Probably." Tosh took the rod and flipped it over and over in her hands, trying to find some hint as to what it did or where it came from. "The Earth might get destroyed though."

"Oh, well, _that's_ nothing to worry about," Monty said.

"So this is what you came to see me about?" Tosh said, pointing the rod at him. He jumped out of the way.

"I was going to come anyway, just not this early. But it seemed urgent, and I didn't know who else to turn to. It isn't every day something materializes in the office."

Tosh nodded. "It's a good thing you did. Thank you. I'll have to find some way to repay you."

"Oh, I can think of a few ways."

Tosh smiled. Then she focused her attention back on the rod. _Come on,_ she thought. _What do you do? Activate!_

Suddenly, a shrill scream, like the blow of a whistle, sounded as though from the very air around them. A concussion exploded outward from the device, and when the blast hit her, everything fell silent, as though she'd gone deaf. Then the shockwave passed and she could hear the rushing of wind roaring away from them. A single beam of light shot out from the rod and struck a passing pedestrian.

_Damn it!_ She quickly pointed the rod down at the ground, but the damage was done. Thankfully, it shut down before it could do much more, but the man it'd shot was sprawled unmoving on the ground.

She and Monty ran up to the man and turned him over.

"He's still breathing," Monty said.

The man's eyelids shot open. He shifted his gaze from one of them to the other, his eyes wide with a sort of dazed fervor. "Am I dead? Are you... angels?"

Tosh shook her head. "No, you're alive, thankfully."

"Thank the Lord! He has allowed me to come back to serve Him!"

Tosh and Monty exchanged looks. She could tell he was thinking, _Oh, it's one of _them. The man ignored them.

"Oh, the follies I have committed. He struck me down in punishment for my sins, but when I was afraid, He appeared in the darkness and showed me the path of righteousness. I have been granted a second chance!"

"You're all right, sir?" Monty said cautiously.

The man grabbed his tie and pulled him closer. "I am great, young man! I am saved! Repent, or you will burn in Hell for all eternity!"

"Oh," Monty blinked. "Great. Sounds like fun."

"Are you being flippant?"

"Oh no, I never learned to cartwheel. I had a bad back in elementary school."

The man paused, apparently unsure what to make of his comment. Finally, he nodded, his eyes filling with tears. "You have already sold your soul to the Devil! You are beyond salvation. Oh, may you suffer for all eternity."

He stood up and wandered away and promptly began to rant at a particularly lewd-looking tree.

"You don't suppose I did that to him?" Tosh asked.

"I don't know," Monty responded. "But promise me one thing."

"Yes?"

"_Never_ point that thing at me again."

"God damn you!" the man roared as Tosh and Monty beat a hasty retreat. "You're just like that blasphemous Giving Tree, seducing little children with your 'gifts' and making them play with you!"

**--**

Chase, Foreman, and Cameron were waiting for House for close to ten minutes before they realized he wasn't showing up.

"Where's House?" Cameron asked. "No way he's still in the clinic."

"Where have you been the last few years?" Foreman said.

"Uh, guys…" Chase was pacing by the window, and he pointed outside. "The light in Wilson's office is on."

"So?" said Foreman.

Chase ignored him and went through House's office onto the balcony. Cameron shrugged and followed him out. Foreman just snickered, which Cameron thought was an exceedingly odd reaction.

Sure enough, House was in Wilson's office. In fact, he was the only one in Wilson's office. Sitting back in his chair, with his feet on the table, House was watching TV and twirling his cane around. The three of them clambered over the wall dividing the two balconies, and Chase tried the door. It was locked. He knocked, and House looked up.

"Let us in!" Chase said.

"Go around and use the front door like polite people."

Foreman rolled his eyes but didn't bother protesting. He turned and climbed back over the wall. Cameron followed.

"No, that's ridiculous, House!" Chase said. "I'm staying here until you open the door."

"Can't you stand up to me on something useful?" House asked.

When they reached the door bearing Wilson's name, they found it locked too, but House opened it for them. Cameron glanced at the side door and saw the balcony was empty.

"Where's Chase?" she asked.

"He finally saw reason," House replied, slamming the door shut. As he turned the lock, they heard a _thump_ and the door shook on its hinges.

"Ow!" Chase's muffled cry came from the other side.

"Sorry!" House said. "The door's jammed! Try the balcony entrance!"

"Just let him in." Cameron said.

"Don't stand up for your lover."

"I'm not sleeping with him!"

"Focus on your work, Cameron! I assume you're here with the lab results, which will all be negative."

Cameron sighed. "How did you know?"

"Because your suggestions were stupid!"

Foreman laid out several negatives on the desk. "MRI showed nothing; other than the stroke, her brain's clean. What are you doing in Wilson's office?"

"I'm office-sitting for him. His porn stash gets lonely."

"TSH levels were normal," Cameron said, "but she's hypoglycemic, so insulinoma is still on the table."

"Low blood sugar is also indicative of many other conditions," House said.

"None of which explain the seizures, panic attacks, and vision."

"Insulinoma doesn't cause strokes. Her hypoglycemia occurred after her arrival, so it may simply be due to weight loss from the stroke. Check her heart, it's the next most likely candidate to throw a clot in the brain."

A knock showed Chase had made his way back to the balcony door. House got up, and Chase looked relieved until House plastered the MRI against the glass right in front of his face and yelled, "Get out of the way; you're blocking the sun."

"What are you looking for?" Cameron asked, suddenly wary.

"You idiots," House said. "Foreman's obsessed with the brain, but I expected you to know better. It's all in the head, it always is, but whoever said the brain was the only thing in there?"

Chase tapped the glass. "It looks like there's an angioma in her eye."

"Wow, maybe I should've locked one of you outside instead. We assumed the loss of color vision was due to brain damage from the stroke, but we can already see at least one clot in her retina. What if there's something wrong with the eye itself?"

"If it's a cavernous hemangioma, it's usually autosomal," Foreman said.

"We managed to get a full medical history from the hospitals in Wales," Cameron said. "There's no family history of relevant diseases, and we have her parents' DNA tests. It isn't genetic."

"Most people can go a lifetime without experiencing symptoms," House replied. "But it could also be a simple clot, which would make it another symptom of an underlying condition."

Chase suddenly turned and ran to the other end of the balcony. "Hey! What's that? It looks like there's someone in your office!"

"Well, tell the janitor that if he cleans up now, he'll just have to do it again later!" House yelled. "Now back to the case; give her some starch and make sure her glucose level returns to normal, then monitor it and see if it changes. If it does, we'll know it's a new symptom."

Chase was leaning over the very edge of the balcony now as he strained to get a better look into House's office. "Hey! House! He's going through your files! Get out of there!"

Pushing down against the concrete with both hands, Chase swung himself onto the wall and charged House's office, but his feet came down against some dirt and lost their traction. The sudden loss of footing sent Chase crashing down onto the divider. He began sliding backwards. "Oh shit!" he said, grabbing for any handhold within reach, but it was too late, and a second later, he slid over the edge and vanished. This was soon followed by a loud thump.

"Chase!" Cameron cried, pushing House aside and running to the edge. Foreman and House followed close behind. She saw Chase sprawled on the ground a floor below.

"I'm fine!" Chase groaned. "I'm fine. Ow!"

"Come on, we'd better make sure he's ok," Foreman said, and he ran back into the office, dragging House behind him.

"Wait, what about the intruder?" Cameron called after them, but they were gone. She glanced back over the wall and saw that Chase was indeed correct. The man had stopped for a moment to see what the commotion was about, but as Cameron met his gaze, he turned away and nonchalantly began going through House's drawers.

Taking care not to make the same mistake Chase had, Cameron vaulted over the wall and threw open the door.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. The man ignored her. She walked forward and grabbed his shoulder. "Sir, you need to leave immediately or I'll call security."

The man swung around and twisted her arm, slamming her against House's desk. His face seemed to shimmer, momentarily revealing something scaly and dark beneath his skin, and then he hissed at her, sending small, almost aerosolized, droplets of ice cold spittle against her neck. She tried to twist away, but his grip was too strong.

"Dr. Cameron, don't move!" 

Two gunshots rang out, and she felt the pressure from the man's weight disappear. She turned around and saw him spin apart into a cloud of black smoke. Two bullets clattered from mid-air onto the floor. Ianto Jones ran up to her and pulled her away from the desk with one hand, his other still pointing the gun around as he searched the room for where the man, or the thing, or whatever it was, had gone.

"You're not supposed to have a gun in the hospital!" she said.

Ianto gave her an incredulous look. Right at that moment, wisps of smoke drew together out of thin-air and the creature re-materialized, this time as a towering, reptilian biped with fangs and six-inch long claws. It roared and slashed Ianto's hand, sending the gun flying. Falling back, Ianto pushed her toward the door and lunged for the fallen weapon. The creature leapt on him, its claws tearing at his sides. Ianto screamed as the creature lifted him up and brought him toward its yawning jaws, but then it stopped, making a curious sniffing motion before tossing Ianto aside like a rag doll. He slammed into House's desk with such force it collapsed about him.

Cameron had almost reached the door when the creature spoke, its voice boring into her head and grabbing hold of her as though she'd been conditioned to obey its every command. "_You are contaminated. You know where the artifact is._" Its voice echoed within her mind, repeating over and over, and every time she heard it, her muscles seemed to lock down further.

She stood frozen in place, unable to will herself to escape as the creature took step after step forward, drawing ever closer. Behind it, she saw Ianto groaning as he struggled from the remains of House's desk. Right as the creature came within arm's-length of her, he reached his gun.

"_RUN!_" he screamed, firing.

The force of his voice drove the creature's out of her head, and suddenly her limbs were her own again. The bullet struck the creature's shoulder. Its skin flickered and faded like a hologram in a movie, leaving only a burst of smoke in its place. Then the same thing happened to its front as the bullet passed through its body and whistled past Cameron's ear. She screamed and ran.

The creature howled in outrage. It spun toward Ianto and bellowed, "_You will stay put!_"

Then it turned and started bounding down the hallway after her, closing the distance between them with impossible speed.

"Somebody help me!" she screamed, watching it draw closer out of the corner of her eye. Right at that moment, a door opened before her, blocking her way. She screamed again, dodging to the side.

Surprisingly, it was Wilson who staggered out of what was apparently a custodial closet. His shirt was half-opened and his expression was somewhere between terrified and half-mad.

"Wilson, come back!" she heard Brenda's voice calling in desperation.

Then Cameron was past the door, missing it with inches to spare. The creature was not quite as mobile, though, and its momentum carried it straight into Wilson. The poor man didn't even see it coming. He let out a garbled cry as he and the creature tore the door off its hinges and went soaring down the hall past Cameron. She yelped, turned on her heels, and headed back the other way.

Behind her, the creature lifted Wilson up by his arms and pinned him against the wall. "_You are contaminated too._"

A light seemed to emanate from the creature's entire body as a bluish-red glow spread from it to Wilson, eventually enveloping both of them in a giant bubble. This lasted a few seconds, along with a low, bass-like hum, before the light vanished, like a bubble breaking, and the creature let Wilson slide to the ground.

As Cameron passed House's office, a hand grabbed her, and she screamed, but it was just Ianto.

"How did you get out?" she asked.

"I've been trained to resist psychic attacks," Ianto replied as they approached an intersection. "Though this... this is different. _Turn right!_"

"Where are we going?" Cameron demanded.

"I'm not sure!"

"Well that's great!" The creature was rapidly gaining ground.

"Might be a good idea to get it out of the hospital," Ianto suggested. "DUCK!"

The creature leapt as Ianto pushed her to the ground. It sailed past overhead, and Cameron winced as she felt its claws tug at her back, but it just snagged her lab coat and tore it off, leaving a trail of white fabric in its wake. Ianto fired once more, and the bullet went through it just like the ones before it had. He cursed and threw the gun to the floor, its clip empty.

"That's all you have?"

"No weapons allowed in a hospital," Ianto muttered.

The creature was staggering back to its feet, but just as it was ready to charge, Jack Harkness ran up screaming behind it and tackled it. For a moment, Cameron felt her spirits rise, as she saw Ianto's body language relax upon the appearance of his boss. Then the creature picked Jack up and swung him around twice before launching him through the nearest window.

"Oh my god!" Cameron exclaimed. "Will he be all right?"

"Most likely," Ianto said grimly as the creature roared at them. "Well, here goes nothing." He let out a yell and charged the creature in the same manner Jack had.

"Ianto, are you mad?!" Cameron cried out, grabbing the remnants of his shirt collar. Ianto let out a choked gargle as he fell backward, but at least he wasn't going to get himself killed. Of course, the blood stains his fall left on the floor weren't encouraging, either. Before the creature could reach them, however, Jack Harkness burst screaming out of the stairwell and tried to tackle the creature again. This time, it simply ducked, sideswiping Jack's attack and sending him flying back out the window a second time.

"This isn't going to work." Ianto groaned. "Do you keep extra clothes here?" he asked her.

"Yeah, in the office, why?"

"Go change, and get rid of the clothes you're wearing now."

"If I get attacked again, I'm going to need to buy more lab coats," Cameron grumbled to herself.

"Yeah, and I'm going to need to buy more suits. Now go!"

While the alien's back was still turned to them from pushing Jack out the window, Ianto ran up behind it and grabbed the remnants of Cameron's lab coat. He quickly draped it around himself and kicked the alien.

"Hey! After me!"

The alien turned around, sniffed, and roared, "_You are contaminated!_"

Cameron dodged down the hallway. As she was about to enter the conference room, she noticed a dazed Wilson edging along the wall toward her. She ran up to him and grabbed his arm.

"AAAAH!" Wilson screamed before his eyes refocused. "Oh, it's you. What happened?"

"Uh, a patient got loose."

"A patient? That was a patient?"

"Well, of course it was a patient; what'd you think it was? A rampaging bipedal crocodile?"

"Well, no, of course not, but there was kind of some... slobbering... I think..."

"That's 'cause he was an Alzheimer's patient. A really, really young... and mobile... Alzheimer's patient. Who tackles people. Come on," Cameron said softly, feeling bad for the terrified oncologist. "Here, follow me and you'll be safe, ok?"

"All right, sure." Wilson nodded, clinging onto her arm.

She quickly guided him into the conference room where she picked up her bag. Then they proceeded to the women's restroom. When they arrived at the door, however, Wilson froze.

"Wait, where are we going?"

"Shhh, no one will find us in there; I just need to change my clothes."

"You want me to watch you change?" Wilson went bug-eyed. "Are you seducing me, Cameron?"

"What? _No_."

Wilson backed away from her until he crashed into a wall and fell to the floor. He kept trying to back away, however, resulting in his arms and legs moving about in a weird, flailing pattern. "Back away, you evil seductress!" he yelled. "All you women, all you ever want to do is sleep with me! But I've had enough! I'm never sleeping with a woman again!"

Just about everyone on the floor stopped and stared at them. Cameron waved nervously and retreated into the restroom.

**--**

As Ianto ran down the hallway, he noted that Cameron really needed to find a different brand of perfume, because the one she had reminded him of Scottish sheep on a rainy day. His sides burned from the creature's claws, and he could feel his legs weakening with every breath he took. Maybe that was just the cloying perfume from the lab coat, though. No wonder the alien thought she was contaminated.

He let out a breath of relief when he turned into a stairwell, hoping to lose the alien, and saw Jack running up the stairs toward him.

"You got it away from Cameron?"

Ianto nodded. "She doesn't have the artifact because she was clean when I scanned her earlier in the day." They burst through the door leading to the first floor. "I told her to change because her level of exposure should mean very little radiation got onto her body."

"_You will stop running!_" The alien's voice echoed down the stairwell and through the corridor at him. Ianto's legs spasmed as his muscles try to seize while his brain fought the psychic impulse. Jack didn't seem to have any problem at all, but it was clear neither of them could keep up the chase forever. Ianto was losing blood fast, and the creature could outrun either of them even on a good day.

"In there!" Ianto pointed. They raced into an exam room and started blockading the entrance with anything they could find. The bed, chairs, shelves, buckets, everything piled against the door until they could barely make it out.

When the alien arrived, it thumped at the frame and the entire room seemed to shake. Their barricade wouldn't last long, and apart from a window, there was no avenue of escape.

"Bullets don't work against it, but something else has to!" Ianto said, rummaging through the drawers. Jack quickly followed his lead and began to search the other side of the room.

Ianto nearly cut himself as he found the medical equipment. A quick search revealed nothing more deadly than a cutting tool, but that was better than nothing. He picked it up, telling Jack, "I've got a scalpel!"

"Great! I've got, uh... a, uh, well, a..."

"What? A gun? A needle? Laser? X-ray machine?"

"Remind me to apologize to the Doctor next time we meet."

"_What do you have_?"

"A screwdriver." Jack held up a small, miniature screwdriver with a yellow handle, similar to the sort used to fix glasses. "And it's not even sonic," he added mournfully.

The alien's insistent thumping stopped. They both watched the door, waiting for the brief reprieve to end, feeling like characters in a horror movie. The seconds dragged on, the tense silence broken only by Jack throwing the screwdriver away in disgust. Ianto handed him a second scalpel, which he accepted gratefully, if dubiously.

Suddenly, Jack charged the window and began stabbing into thin-air. At the same moment, wisps of black smoke began creeping through the edges of the door in exactly the same way the alien had dematerialized earlier.

"Jack, what are you doing? It's coming through the door!" Ianto said, backing away as the smoke drew closer and closer. There was no escape, though. For some reason, Jack was still grappling with some invisible monster, and all the while, the smoke drew closer and closer. Ianto screamed as it closed around him and forced itself into his mouth and nostrils. The world went black. "Jack! Jack! Help me! I'm going blind! It's killing me!"

Ianto sank to the floor, twitching in agony.

"Ianto, stop moving!" He heard a crash, as though Jack was being thrown against the barricade, but the next instant, he could feel his captain's arms around him. "Calm down, Ianto, and kiss me."

"I hardly think this is the time for that, sir," Ianto replied weakly.

Jack ignored him, and Ianto felt the pressure of his lips against his. The next instant, however, he felt something completely new, or almost completely new. A sort of warmth, like a rush of electric fire, passed from Jack's mouth to his, and Ianto could feel the heat spread through his body. The only other time he'd felt this sensation was back in the Hub after Lisa had knocked him unconscious, and Jack had woken him with a kiss...

Ianto opened his eyes with a gasp and was relieved when light flooded his vision. He could see again! His gaze quickly shifted from Jack to the metallic object behind him. A five-foot wide, spider-like droid was struggling to escape from where it had been pinned against the ground by the bed. A faint, shimmering blue glow surrounded its body like an aura, and it moved on thick, tentacle-like legs. Their tips opened and closed, revealing razor-sharp blades hidden within, which it was currently using to try to file its way out from the bedpost. Jack had apparently sliced some of its circuitry, so it couldn't shift itself to bring its weight to bear against the bed. Jack grinned. "So you see it now?"

It took Ianto a moment to realize what Jack meant. "_That's_ the alien?"

"The alien scout bot. Didn't you wonder why it acted so stupid, like it was following pre-programmed protocols?"

Ianto shook his head. "Too busy. I was... concerned for the other people... in the hospital."

Jack took off his army coat and applied it against Ianto's wounds. "You're losing blood."

Ianto realized he was shivering, but even so, he tried to push Jack's hands away. "You'll... ruin the coat. Blood's... impossible to get out."

Jack shook his head, "What's an army coat without a few bloodstains? Besides, you think this is my only one?"

Ianto tried to relax, but he was feeling weaker by the moment. The fact that Jack wasn't calling for help meant it wasn't too serious, though, so he tried to distract himself by talking. "So if it's a hallucination... why can I see it now?"

Jack looked annoyed as the bot's constant skittering grew more and more frantic. He had retrieved the screwdriver sometime while Ianto had been blinded, and now he stabbed it straight into the droid's body. Its machinery failed with a high-pitched whine that built to an shrill intensity before suddenly dying out. Sparks flew as its legs went limp and the glow faded from its surface. Jack shrugged. "It was programmed to self-destruct if we tried to analyze it, anyway. Without further study, I can't say for certain, but it seems the hallucinations were generated by a psionic emitter specifically targeted at human brain waves. I didn't realize you weren't seeing the same thing as me until you told me it was coming through the door, but then it all became clear."

"Wait, but you're human; you're not like the Doctor. Why weren't you affected?"

"Same reason you weren't a few seconds ago. It was thanks to Tosh that the thought ever occurred to me, though. Remember back when she had the mind-reading pendant, and she could read everyone's thoughts but mine? I had to make a conscious effort to get my brainwaves through to her."

"So?"

"So what's the only difference between you and me? Other than the fact that you can make a devastating cup of coffee."

Ianto's eyes widened. "You can't die."

"More precisely, I can't die because I'm infused with energy from the time vortex, which apparently creates an interference field that blocks psionic waves, so my thoughts don't get through and mind-altering devices don't affect me."

"Is that why you didn't see anything when Bilis was trying to convince us to open the Rift?"

"Yes," Jack said, but he drew the word out a little too long, and Ianto knew he was lying. He decided to ignore the fact.

"And by kissing me, you transferred some of the energy to me."

Jack nodded. "Yes. Unfortunately, the effect doesn't last in your case, but it was just strong enough to bring you back. The level of control it was exerting over your brain, it was obvious it was trying to shut it down, kill you." For a moment, Jack looked frightened. "I might've lost you if I'd delayed a few seconds longer."

Ianto buried his face in the cloth of Jack's coat and tried to control the quaver in his voice. "Yes, and who would do the filing then?"

Jack smiled as though indulging a child. His brows were furrowed, however. "What did it want, though?"

"It was going after the radiation, calling it contamination, and saying it was linked to an 'artifact.' It's got the same goal as us."

"And Cameron had a large dose of it on her. So did I."

"So did Wilson, sir. It cornered him in the hall, too."

"Yet none of us have the artifact." Jack frowned. "What's the common link?"

The thought hit them at the same time. "House!" they both exclaimed.

"It was going through his office," Ianto added.

Jack stood and frantically began unblocking the door. "Keep applying pressure, Ianto, I'll send help!" He finally got the entrance cleared. He paused a moment before he left and said, "Of all the people it could be, it had to be House."

"Hurry and stop him," Ianto said.

"The man's got more curiosity than a freshly-dead cat," Jack added. With that, he charged off.

**--**

"I'm fine, seriously," Chase protested, trying to get up from the gurney. Cuddy pushed him back down again.

"You're not getting up until we get these x-rays."

"House is the best diagnostician around; if he agrees I'm fine, I'm fine."

"He isn't Superman."

"Funny, that's not what you said yesterday while we were having sex in the backseat of your car," House said. He whacked Chase in the leg. "Does that hurt?"

"Ow, yes!"

"Better do a full scan."

"Dammit, House, you're just trying to get into her pants by agreeing with her!" There was a momentary awkward silence as Chase realized the subject of his comment was standing right next to him. He quickly rubbed his head, "Uh, I think I might have suffered some head trauma, though. I'm feeling a little woozy."

Cuddy looked like she was going to ask for House's cane, or at least let him hit his employee again. House wasn't about to disagree. "No, Chase, sex by sucking up is what you do," he told him.

A draft announced the entrance of Cameron and Wilson. For some reason, Cameron was missing her lab coat and wearing a completely different outfit.

"Wilson, did you do naughty things to Cameron's clothes?" he said.

Wilson glared. Cuddy drew herself up. "Wilson, I've been hearing complaints about you from the staff," she said. "I must admit, I'm surprised, but the sheer number of comments is stunning."

Wilson sighed, "What have they been saying?"

House slammed the butt of his cane against the floor and yelled, "Discrimination! Just because the man likes to get it on with men is no reason for you to side against him in a case where evil nurses are clearly trying to slander our good oncologist. For shame, Cuddy, for shame!"

Cuddy's jaw dropped. "That's not what I've been hearing. Is this true?"

Wilson frowned. "If that's not what you've been hearing, then what _have_ people been saying?"

"They said you misled and sexually harassed one of the nurses."

"I would do no such thing! I have been slapped, hit, abused, and intimidated by the nursing staff, but I have never done those things in return to anyone!"

Cameron suddenly turned to Wilson. "You're gay?"

Foreman groaned. "Yes. Not everyone wants to date you, Cameron."

Cameron reddened. 

Wilson looked embarrassed. "Not per se, necessarily." He pulled out a prescription bottle and popped two pills into his mouth. House could _hear_ everyone's attention being drawn toward this trivial action.

Cuddy sighed. "The staff is gossiping about you, patients are complaining about you, and now you're taking drugs? House is a bad influence."

"Hey, hey." House tried to look offended. "Monkey see, monkey do. Don't blame the human."

"I had to prescribe him some sedatives," Cameron said, "because he wouldn't calm down otherwise."

"He doesn't seem very calm right now," House observed.

"Trust me, he was far worse earlier."

"Yes, I was," Wilson said cheerfully.

"He got attacked by a senile patient."

"Typical," Cuddy said. "I leave the hospital for ten minutes to grab lunch, and everything goes to hell."

"Don't worry, Cuddy, I'm sure it had nothing to do with you," House said. She glared at him. He decided the conversation was beginning to bore him. As the others argued, House settled himself into an uncomfortable chair in the corner and watched. His mind wandered, and he thought briefly of his patient--what was her name again? Not that it mattered--but he soon dismissed that train as having no destination. 

Casting his mind about for something more interesting to contemplate, he absent-mindedly reached into his jacket pocket for the crossword he'd stuck there yesterday. His eyebrows shot up when his right hand closed around something smooth and rounded. He pulled the mysterious object out of his pocket and examined it, turning it slowly in his hands. He'd completely forgotten that he'd found it the morning before, which was odd considering the less-than-normal circumstances under which it had turned up.

It was vaguely lemon-shaped and small--only about four inches from point to point, and perhaps a little more than two inches wide in the middle, at its fattest point. It was grey, though it also had a dark blue-ish tint to it when the light shone on it, and it felt impossibly smooth. There was a square of lighter grey about one by one and a half inches centered on the object that looked to House like some sort of screen, but he could feel no seam around its edges. There was nothing else, no marks or indentations or buttons, just... smoothness, to the point of seeming almost frictionless.

There was also something undeniably strange about its weight. He had not felt its presence at all when it had been in his pocket, as if it had weighed no more than a pencil or a handkerchief, but now that it was resting in his palm it felt much heavier, very heavy for its size, like it was made of condensed heavy metals. The weight was almost comforting, and this seemed bizarre to House. He would have thought there was nothing at all comforting about an object found in his own home that he'd never seen before and that appeared to have several seemingly abstract features.

Frowning, House tossed it gently into the air. It rose no more than an inch before falling back into his hand. His frown deepened and he tossed it up again, this time with a little more force. And again, it only rose an inch before dropping back down. 

On a whim, he placed the object on the floor by his feet and gave it a little push. Instead of rolling across the floor as it ought to have, it appeared to roll _in place_. House watched and waited until it had stopped its gentle spinning, then picked it up again. 

"Huh," he muttered to himself, slowly running his fingertips over the mysterious object, once again feeling the impossible seamlessness. When he turned it back over and glanced at the "screen," he was surprised to find that it was no longer blank, and he wondered what he might have done. Now, there were three black dots in an L-ish shape in the center of the screen, and one black dot in the upper right corner. He stared at it.

At that moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he whirled around to see Cameron looking worried and Chase looking annoyed. He was a little peeved that he'd been so lost in his own thoughts he hadn't even noticed them approaching. Cuddy had apparently taken Wilson out of the room so they could be empathetic together, and Foreman had wandered off in disgust--good man. Chase had clearly grown bored waiting for someone to perform an unnecessary procedure on him, so he'd limped over with Cameron to annoy House, as the two of them were wont to do.

"What's that?" Cameron asked, moving the hand she had rested on House's shoulder downwards in an attempt to take the object from him. He started, instinctively jerking his hand away and causing it to collide with the hard arm of the chair. The sudden, though minor, pain caused him to drop the object, and Cameron made a small sound of surprise. It fell to the floor and House, Cameron, and Chase stared as it spun calmly in place. House tried to come up with a suitably scathing comment, but before he thought of one he liked, Chase bent down and picked it up.

"Well that's curious, isn't it?" he mused, holding it at arms length between his fingertips, as if he thought it would bite him. _Knowing Chase, he probably does_, thought House, feeling a little peeved. 

"Let me see." Cameron reached out to take it from him, but as her hand closed around it, her fingers pressed gently on the "screen", and it reacted by caving in.

What followed was not a loud bang or an inconvenient explosion, but a moment of utter silence. Not mere quiet, but rather the complete absence of any type of sound. When thinking of 'silence', people might imagine the lull in sound that comes from being alone in a room, or the awkward pauses that sometimes plague conversations. This could not compare. Even in those situations, there were the ever-present sounds of breathing and other bodily functions, of rustling fabric, of other background noises that tended to be ignored because people were used to them being there. In that moment, there was _nothing_.

And then it was over. The doors burst open once more and Jack Harkness entered with a shout, running over to them. He was followed by a pretty, Asian woman with excellent legs and a man with disturbingly prominent sideburns. House's ears were ringing and he could feel the beginnings of a massive headache, as well as an indefinable sense of sensory division that he couldn't even begin to logic away. Chase and Cameron were on the floor, but House couldn't remember how they had gotten there. There had seemed to have been no time or movement in between them standing and them lying there. The headache intensified.

"What happened?" shouted Harkness as he knelt down beside them. House ignored him in favor of first futilely massaging his temples and then conducting a thorough--but subtle, because he wasn't stupid--search for the object. 

It was definitely gone. Somehow, this didn't surprise House in the slightest. Harkness shouted at him some more, but House ignored him and instead turned to the pretty Asian girl. If he had to talk to someone, a pretty girl--or Wilson, but he wasn't here--was always preferable to an angry yelling man who probably didn't like him anyway.

"What happened?" he demanded. She spared him an exasperated glare.

"You tell us. You were the one who was here!"

House stared at her blankly for a moment more, trying in vain to collect his thoughts. She did have a point, he conceded, but not out loud because it didn't actually matter.

"Well?" Harkness demanded.

"You clearly know something about it," House said, preferring to be the accuser.

Harkness put his hands on his hips. "I asked first."

Well, his argument certainly won over the flippant side of House's mind, but even if he was in any mood to be helpful, he had no idea what had happened, so instead of answering, he turned dramatically on his heel--impressive for a man with a bum leg, he thought smugly--and swept out of the room. Eh... limped. But sweepingly. He needed to find Wilson, lots of coffee, and somewhere quiet and sane where he could carefully assess the last five minutes.


	6. Interlude I: The Mastermind

**Interlude**

**The Mastermind**

_This interlude is a story about the Second Doctor that can be read as a stand-alone (though all interludes will tie into the main plot later) that takes place after the events of "The War Games", his final broadcasted serial (excluding multi-Doctor specials) and utilizes the "season 6B" theory._

The Doctor stepped lightly out of the TARDIS and onto the fresh, green landscape of eighteenth century Scotland. He took a deep breath, and a silly, nervous grin crept onto his face. He just stood there for a moment longer, breathing in the clean morning air, before striding off in a probably random direction. 

The Doctor had, after much debate, been granted his freedom by the Time Lords, if it could indeed be called "freedom" under the conditions, or condition, really. The condition stated that he should be allowed to do as he wished and go where he wanted with his TARDIS, so long as he would willingly undertake any mission the Time Lords assigned to him. This would continue until they decided they no longer needed him, at which point his original sentence would promptly be carried out. 

He was, of course, far from satisfied with this deal, but it was better than the alternative and so he accepted it readily. Thoughts of escape, of just flying off in the TARDIS to a place where they could never find him, had naturally crossed his mind, but he had accepted that such a feat was impossible. They were everywhere.

The biggest problem was that he had been traveling with companions for so long, it seemed he no longer remembered how to travel alone, and it happened that he was no longer very good at it. After months of persuasion, the Time Lords had granted him permission to retrieve Jamie. They had also "graciously" installed a circuit that allowed him to better control the TARDIS, which was the only real plus to the whole situation.

So there he was, and he felt excited, nervous, and scared all at once. Jamie, of course, would not remember him. He would have to induce the memories, but he would only be able to do so if Jamie decided he wanted him to, and even then, there was always the chance that Jamie would choose not to come travel with him again. 

Before he could worry about all that, though, he had to _find_ Jamie. 

It turned out that this wasn't too hard. The TARDIS had been programmed to materialize as close to where Jamie was as possible, and roughly a month after he'd been returned, by his time. So the Doctor had only been walking for ten minutes when he came upon a stream and Jamie, perched casually on a large jutting tree root beside it, apparently lost in thought.

The Doctor hadn't realized how very much he'd missed his friend until he saw him. He'd never before been able to become so close to a traveling companion as he had to Jamie, and he seriously doubted he ever would again. Jamie looked exactly the same; hair, clothing, posture, everything. The boy didn't appear to hear his approach, so he placed a careful hand lightly on the boy's shoulder, trying his best not to startle him.

Jamie jumped anyway, and was on his feet in an instant, brandishing a knife.

"Who are ye and wha' do ye want?" he asked, tensed and ready to strike. The Doctor held up his hands to show he had no weapon.

"Jamie, calm down. I'm a friend," he said soothingly.

"How do ye know my name?" 

"I told you, I'm a friend." Jamie relaxed a little bit, mollified by the Doctor's non-threatening stance and tone.

"Well, ye dinnae look very mean, I suppose," he admitted. "So who are ye, really? I dinnae think I know ye."

"I'm the Doctor, Jamie. We did know each other. You don't remember me." A strange look flitted across Jamie's face.

"The... Doctor?" he said mostly to himself, as if testing the words out.

"Yes," the Doctor responded, even though it hadn't really been a question directed at him.

"Why wouldn't I remember ye, then?" Jamie asked, relaxing all the way and sitting back down. The Doctor debated with himself for a moment, then gave in and sat next to him.

"It's a very long story, Jamie. But I could help you remember, if you like." Jamie stayed silent for a while, except to throw a couple pebbles into the river and watch the effects.

"How would ye do that? Some kind o' witchcraft?" he finally asked skeptically.

"You would have to trust me." Jamie skeptical look didn't go away and the Doctor began to feel worried again. If Jamie didn't even allow him to help, he would never get the boy back. The thought made him far sadder than he would have expected. Jamie had fallen silent again, staring at the stream. They sat together for several tense minutes, before Jamie looked up. His eyes were wide and confused, and the Doctor felt a wave of sorrow for the boy.

"I... have blanks where I can' remember wha' I did," Jamie said, as though imparting a huge and terrible secret. To him, it probably was. "At first it dinnae feel like anything, but the more time passes, the more I begin t' notice things. I'm different from how I was only a while ago. I can read! I dinnae used t' be able to read, but now I can and I don' remember learning! And sometimes... I dream impossible things. Great silver beasties and white rooms and, and a big blue box. And sometimes, Doctor, there's someone what looks like you do in my dreams." 

The Doctor nodded in sympathy and guiltily berated himself for the pleasure he felt upon hearing that Jamie did remember him, even if it was only in the smallest, most insignificant way. The damned Time Lords couldn't even erase memories properly, and this was causing Jamie pain and confusion; it was nothing to feel happy about. There was no one _here_ Jamie could talk to about this. And without a memory block more firmly in place, the dreams would come more and more often, and snatches of memory would begin to return. But all of this would take years, and Jamie wouldn't understand the memories he'd be recovering. Wouldn't recognize them as memories. For someone living in such a primitive time, random flashes of spaceships and aliens would be maddening. But the dissolution of a memory block could not be forced. He'd have to have Jamie's complete consent.

Given Jamie's time period and origins, the Time Lords had probably not expected Jamie to live very long anyway, and so hadn't bothered to secure the mental block properly. Being thrown back into the middle of a war where he was on the losing side did not have good prospects.

They didn't know Jamie. He could survive anything. He wasn't the most intelligent boy, but that was mostly due to technological ignorance as opposed to a lack of cleverness. And he didn't always catch on to the Doctor's complex plans very quickly, resulting in them landing in sticky situations on more than one occasion. He was also brash and tended to rush into a fight before properly considering the situation. But all of these faults he made up for and more with his intensely fierce loyalty. The Doctor had never seen anything like it in all his centuries. Once Jamie had decided someone was his friend, he would willingly and eagerly defend them with his life. He was strong, and a very skilled fighter for his age. It had been necessary, of course, given his childhood. And he fought all the more fiercely when those he loved were being threatened.

Aside from all that, one of Jamie's most prominent strengths was his incredible adaptability. Of _course_ he didn't even come close to understanding any of the things the Doctor showed him, but even though he was curious and inquisitive, he just accepted that things were the way they were. He liked to ask how things worked, but when he couldn't understand he just accepted it. Jamie didn't walk into the TARDIS and say "that's impossible," he said, "how does it work?" In many ways, this demonstrated an intelligence far beyond average. This acceptance made Jamie unusually suited for time travel, despite his primitive background.

But now, here Jamie was, back in his own time and having dreams about places that wouldn't exist yet for centuries, and no one was around to believe him. Even the most adaptable mind would be driven insane.

Jamie was staring inquisitively at him. "Doctor?" he asked.

"Would you allow me to help you?" the Doctor asked him quietly. Jamie nodded.

"It is extremely important that I have your absolute permission to do this, Jamie," the Doctor said softly. Jamie started to look a little worried.

"Will it hurt or what?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Oh dear me, no, nothing like that," the Doctor assured him. "It's just that if you don't trust me completely, it won't work, and we won't get a second chance." Jamie smiled brilliantly at him.

"I don' ken why I trust you, Doctor, but somehow I do." The Doctor was a little bit touched, and offered Jamie a happy smile in return, then brought his hands up to Jamie's temples. The boy flinched away instinctively, then checked himself.

The Doctor closed his eyes and concentrated. He could feel Jamie staring at him, and it was a bit disconcerting. With some effort, he pushed that out of his mind, blocking out everything around him and concentrating on Jamie's thoughts. He searched for the block in Jamie's mind, and found it, like a big, ugly boulder just dropped right in the middle of everything. It hadn't been refined at all, just stuck there uncaringly. Shoving aside his anger, the Doctor set about dissolving it. Since it was so poorly done, it didn't take much effort. He supposed he was lucky in that respect, at least.

When the last of it was gone for good, he opened his eyes to look at the boy. Jamie was still staring at him with the same expression and for a moment, he wondered if he'd done something wrong and began to silently panic. Then Jamie grinned and threw his arms around the Doctor, suddenly speaking very fast.

"Och, I knew it, I knew you'd come back for me, Doctor! I would've never gone and left you otherwise! They made me forget? Why? How? Wha' took you so long t' come for me? It's been a month!" The Doctor laughed, enormously relieved.

"So many questions, Jamie! All in good time, all in good time, I promise. First, will you come traveling with me again? I would be very pleased if you did."

"Are you joking, Doctor? Why would I stay here?" The two of them stood, Jamie not letting go.

"Come with me, then! We should leave right away. I have a lot to explain..." 

They headed off towards the TARDIS. Jamie insisted on clinging to the Doctor's arm the whole way, as though he were afraid it was all just another dream. _But it's not_, the Doctor thought with satisfaction.

**A few months later...**

The TARDIS materialized with its usual distinctive grinding noise and shaky landing. 

"Ah ha!" the Doctor said, clapping his hands together in excited delight. "We've landed!"

"Aye, but where _are_ we, Doctor? It's no' another Cyberman base, is it?" Jamie asked skeptically, his hand resting lightly on the Doctor's shoulder. "I've had just 'bout enough o' those!" 

"No, no, of course not, Jamie. I told you, we're here for a break!" The Doctor flipped a switch and the view screen rose, revealing lush green. "There! See? A nice, peaceful forest. Good spot for a picnic!" Jamie didn't look convinced.

"Maybe, but then where exactly are we, eh? I wan' t' know! What planet?" he asked.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure. I don't think I've ever been here before. But I'm sure it will be just fine. Now come on, Jamie! No sense in spending any more time in here." He gave Jamie's arm a friendly pat, pulled the door lever, and walked out.

"Och! Doctor, wait!" The Doctor didn't stop. Giving a resigned sigh, Jamie ran out after him. 

The Doctor had wandered a short distance and was examining the ground with quiet glee. "Look at this, Jamie! The soil has almost exactly the same composition as Earth. How fascinating. I wonder where we are..." Jamie, however, was not interested in the dirt. He stared at the trees.

"Doctor, these trees are green!" he noted.

"Yes, yes, most trees are," the Doctor said dismissively. 

"No, I mean, they're ALL green!" Jamie insisted, tugging at the Doctor's jacket.

"What are you-- oh! Oh, yes, that is quite interesting. I see what you mean. The trunks are green as well. And no leaves, as far as I can see. What bizarre trees." Distracted, the Doctor wandered further away, and Jamie reluctantly followed. Shortly, they came up before a huge, greyish wall that shone oddly in the light.

"Fascinating," the Doctor muttered, examining it. Jamie reached out and touched it, then shouted when his hand briefly stuck.

"Och, it's all _slimy_!" he cried, wiping the goo off his hand on a nearby tree.

"Yes, it's curved strangely also. I wonder what it might be made out of." Before either of them could say anything else, the wall _moved_. It shifted a little to one side, the whole thing rippling a little, and then moved right in front of them, stopped for a moment, then continued moving in the same stunted motions. Jamie and the Doctor both jumped back with a shout of alarm, instinctively clinging to each other. 

"Wha' is that?" Jamie hissed.

"Well, Jamie," the Doctor said as they both recovered from the shock, "I'm beginning to have my suspicions about this place. I think that that--" he nodded at the moving wall, "is a slug."

"Don' be daft! Slugs are wee bitty things," Jamie scoffed. 

"Yes, on Earth they certainly are, but we certainly aren't on Earth." Jamie stared at him in horror.

"Ye don' mean, Doctor... these trees... they're actually grass?" The Doctor beamed proudly at him.

"Yes, very good, Jamie! That is exactly what I think!" Jamie considered this for a moment.

"I wonder if I could find a giant apple. I am a wee bit hungry," he said, looking thoughtful.

"I very much doubt it, Jamie. I think we'd best get back to the TARDIS. This probably isn't the best spot for a vacation."

"Aye, alrigh', Doctor," Jamie agreed. They turned back only to find their path blocked by something large, tan, and tree-like. 

"What--" was all the Doctor managed before a whirlwind of angry, fanged mushroom descended on them. Jamie shouted and reacted instinctively, pushing the Doctor back while removing a knife from his boot in one smooth movement. He adopted a defensive stance and swung skillfully at the attacking mushroom.

He manage to nick it and the mushroom reared back, letting out a chilling cry of distress. Instead of retreating, however, it lunged back down with even more fervor.

"Run!" Jamie shouted at the Doctor, doing his best to dodge the wild attacks. One massive fang left a gash on his right arm. The Doctor scrambled up and looked around wildly for a way to help. Jamie fought bravely and fiercely, but his knife was far too small and there was no way for him to land a decent blow. He quickly realized it was futile and changed strategies, backing away as much as possible, blocking blows and herding the Doctor away at the same time. When they were finally far enough away, they turn their backs on the monster and made a run for it.

The mushroom had long reach, but it was still stuck in the ground and couldn't follow them. They could hear its roars of anger and distress as they ran, without looking back, in the direction they hoped the TARDIS was. 

Jamie noticed the thick ropes on the ground and gave a warning shout a little too late. Their momentum was too great and they couldn't stop in time. Moments later, Jamie and the Doctor were swept up into a primitive net trap, and hung there, swinging gently. 

"Doctor," Jamie began slowly, "your shoe is in my face." The Doctor shot him a disgruntled look. "Now what?" 

"Well, I suppose we have to wait for whoever set this trap to come let us down," the Doctor said.

"I could just cut us loose," Jamie suggested, holding up his knife. 

"No, no, I'd rather like to find out. This is a trap made for something our own size, and that's very curious. Put that away before you hurt somebody!" Jamie pouted at him but obediently stuck the knife back into his boot. The angle was difficult and he had to do a lot of uncomfortable shifting to reach. 

It was nearly an hour later by the time anything happened, and Jamie was complaining loudly of cramping joints and pain from the gash in his arm. The Doctor was mildly worried about the wound, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He had long since given up finding a comfortable position, having settled on being amused by Jamie's constant fidgeting and how he had to keep rearranging his kilt or risk flashing the Doctor. Jamie's latest attempt had resulted in the Doctor being partly upside-down, and all the blood was starting to rush to his head. He was getting more and more uncomfortable when suddenly an arrow pierced the supporting rope and they both fell right onto the thankfully soft ground with shouts of surprise.

Upon trying to stand up and disentangle themselves, they quickly discovered that they were still securely trapped inside the net. Jamie wasn't amused, and groaned loudly to show it.

"Who are you?" a voice demanded, and the Doctor looked up to see a short man dressed in animal skins standing over them and waving a spear threateningly.

"Oh, dear me. I am the Doctor and this is Jamie. Do you think perhaps you could let us out of here?" he asked.

"Aye, my legs are cramping terribly!" Jamie added. The man gave them each a rough poke with his spear.

"Ow! Well! There was certainly no need for that!" the Doctor protested indignantly, earning himself another poke.

"Now you stop that, y' hear?" Jamie tried to defend him. The man ignored them both and instead whistled shrilly. A group of about five men, each carrying some sort of primitive weapon, stepped out from where they had been hiding. Two of them threaded a large pole through the net and lifted it. Carrying Jamie and the Doctor, the whole group made their way deeper into the forest of grass. Jamie started screaming irately, but the Doctor just sighed in resignation and grabbed Jamie's ankles so the boy wouldn't accidentally kick him in the face.

It didn't take long for them to reach a reasonably small area filled with quaint huts with thatched roofs. Jamie and the Doctor were dropped roughly onto the ground. 

"My word!" the Doctor cried, dismayed by their rough treatment. Jamie, apparently fed up, brought out his knife and deftly sliced the ropes. They disentangled themselves and stood, only to find themselves surrounded by short men, each with a large, dangerous-looking spear pointed at them. Jamie waved his knife around, but the Doctor slapped his wrist.

"Put that thing away, Jamie! They'll think we mean them harm!" he admonished.

"Well, they certainly mean us harm!" Jamie protested, but did as he was told regardless. 

"Now, you don't know that yet. We should talk to them first." 

The circle of men surrounding them parted and a tall woman stepped through. She was much more ornately dressed than any of the other people they had seen so far, and the deference with which the men treated her marked her clearly as the leader. She frowned at them.

"Who let you out of the net?" she asked. Her speech was heavily accented, drawing most of her vowels out much longer than necessary.

"No one--" Jamie began angrily, but the Doctor placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him and he quieted, but adopted a defensive pose, ready to strike at any unfriendly motions.

"We mean no harm. We just came here for a visit," the Doctor told the woman. "We were just leaving when we quite accidentally sprung your trap."

"You have strange garments. Explain."

"Yes, well, we're not from here, you see," the Doctor said. "We arrived quite by mistake. If you would kindly allow us to return to our ship, we can be out of here and you won't have to bother with us!"

"You will not leave! You are the cause of all... this, yes?" she said, waving her arms to indicate their surroundings.

"Err... I'm not sure what you mean," the Doctor said, perplexed.

"These mushrooms! They have become hostile and we have already lost three to their hunger."

"Oh! Oh, yes! I mean, no, no, we certainly had nothing to do with them. We were attacked by one before we landed in your trap! Jamie was injured, look." He grabbed Jamie's arm and displayed the wound.

"Doctor!" Jamie protested and yanked his arm back. 

"So you are not their allies?" the woman asked skeptically.

"No, of course not!" As if they had never been under suspicion at all, the woman broke into a huge, toothy grin and her whole stance relaxed. The men around them also relaxed, lowering their weapons.

"I am glad! My name is Kapila, and I am the chief of this village," she said warmly.

"I am the Doctor and this is Jamie," the Doctor said, relieved. "If there is something unnatural occurring here, I would like very much to help. If you would care to fill me in?"

"Of course! We can talk just over there." She pointed towards a hut that was slightly larger than the rest.

"Splendid! Jamie here needs to get his arm patched up, though. Is there someone here who could help him with that while we talk?"

"Doctor! I wan' t' stay with you!" Jamie objected. The Doctor waved an arm dismissively.

"No, Jamie, you need to get that looked at. You don't want it to become infected." He pulled the boy a little closer and whispered in his ear. "Also, you can use this opportunity to explore the area and talk to the villagers."

"Aye, alright," Jamie grumbled.

"Wonderful!" The Doctor turned back to Kapila. "Shall we?"

**--**

Jamie had gotten his arm bandaged by a kind young woman and was now exploring the village. Thankfully, the gash hadn't been as bad as it looked or felt, and it would probably heal up nicely. In the meantime, Jamie was ravenous.

He hadn't eaten anything all day, and it was really starting to get to him. Because of this, his exploration of the village had less to do with gathering information and more to do with finding something to eat. A quick overview of the area convinced him that he wasn't going to find anything he would be allowed to eat in the village, and his best bet would be to look in the surrounding forest area. Vowing not to wander too far lest he get lost, he strode out into the forest of giant grass. 

In the short amount of time he was searching, he mostly just found more massive grass. He definitely didn't find anything he'd consider potentially edible. Something, however, found him. Jamie found himself cornered by three tall, humanoid figures clad from head to toe in bright red leather, all holding vicious-looking whips. He didn't even manage a shout of alarm, much less an attempt at defending himself, before he was clubbed over the head and instantly knocked unconscious. 

**--**

"So," said the Doctor, "tell me all about it. When did this... fanged fungi first start appearing?"

"Only about six moons ago. At first they were few and we could deal with them by simply avoiding them. But now they are many and we fear to even leave the village area! It is only a matter of time before one grows too close to us and attacks us in our home."

The house--using the term very loosely--they were in was small and had only one room, though it was divided into two by a deep red sheet that hung from the ceiling. Despite its small size and quaint outer appearance, the inside was filled with cloths and pillows and tapestries, all in bold red, purple, and gold hues. All in all, it rather reminded the Doctor of a fancy bordello. The sophisticated embroidery and stitchwork led him to believe that perhaps these people were significantly more advanced than they first appeared, at least in certain aspects. He admired a particularly nice tapestry that contained images that would not have been out of place in the Kama Sutra with detached curiosity, his mind racing to come up with the right questions to ask to reveal a clue about the stupid mushrooms.

"Are the people in this village the only ones? Or are there other villages?" he asked.

"No, there are many like us. We used to have a grand trading community! But now this evil has cut us off. We can no longer get enough food. If the beasts do not kill us, starvation certainly will."

"Oh dear, oh dear," the Doctor muttered, pacing and wringing his hands. Kapila watched him with an almost eerie calm.

"Sit, Doctor," she said, patting the plush, exquisitely embroidered pillow next to her. "It will do you no good to wear yourself out."

"Yes, yes, of course," he relented, sitting with very little natural grace. 

"Did they just... spring up?" he asked, feeling a little at a loss. 

"We have never actually seen one appear, so we do not know how they do it. They seem to sprout overnight."

"And there are no... normal mushrooms around?"

"We think the beasts have been feeding on them, for there are none left where they were once plentiful. They used to be our main source of food, and along with our cloths, our main trading material."

"That's strange," the Doctor mused. "You seem to have been hit in the very area where it will do you the most damage. Now, I can't be sure, but this sounds to me like a plot. I would guess there is someone behind all this."

"Oh, it all began near the old castle ruins!" Kapila said, the thought coming to her suddenly. "There was some strange activity there in the weeks before all this began. I sent some scouts, but they did not return. Often my scouts are gone for weeks at a time, so I did not consider it until now, with the recent events."

"But this is splendid! If we can get to the castle and stop the source, we can stop the mushrooms! Can you take me there, by any chance?" Kapila's face fell. 

"It is too far. We cannot fight the beasts, and we cannot leave the village undefended lest violence comes to us." The Doctor stood and started to pace again, frustrated.

**--**

Jamie awoke in what was unmistakably a cell. It was filthy and dark and cold, and Jamie was lying in the middle of it. He sat up slowly and gingerly felt the back of his head. It hurt, but not too badly considering the circumstances. 

He took a few minutes to check himself over and assess the surroundings. Aside from his bruised head and the gash on his arm, he was uninjured. Whoever had kidnapped him hadn't bothered to remove the knife hidden in his boot. Presumably, they hadn't known it was there and hadn't found it. The cell walls were made of stone and looked pretty secure, but the door itself was rusted metal and had a large, conventional lock. One that had a keyhole on both sides.

Raising his eyebrow at this, he pulled the trusty knife out of his boot and deftly picked the lock. He was by no means an expert, but this lock was suspiciously easy to pick. He suspected that the cells weren't often occupied, and therefore there was no reason to keep care of them. The door swung open with a loud squeal as the rusty hinges made themselves known. Jamie froze.

When several minutes had passed and there was nothing to indicate anyone had heard, Jamie tucked the knife back where it belonged and crept carefully out. 

The room just outside the cell was large and musty, with an old wooden table in the center and not much else. There was a thick layer of dust covering everything. There were two other cells that Jamie could see, their doors wide open. One of them looked permanently rusted that way. 

There was also a heavy-set wooden door that looked as though it led out of the room. Jamie tried it. It wasn't locked, so he pulled it open and stepped silently out, body tensed to defend against any attack, should one occur. None did, so he stepped further. He was in a corridor made of the same old stone as the jail room. There were no windows, and that combined with the musty, damp smell told Jamie that he was underground. The corridor was, however, dimly lit with a few low-burning torches. He considered taking one with him, but decided against it on the basis that the area seemed sufficiently lit and he didn't want to have to carry it.

Jamie moved on. There were a few more heavy doors along the corridor. Most of them looked long since rusted shut, but there were two or three that looked as though they had recently been forced open for use. He cautiously opened one of them and peered inside.

It was unmistakably a laboratory. There were long tables littered with beakers, papers, burners, and other, unidentified objects. Although it had clearly been in use far more recently than the rest of the area, it looked as though it had been several weeks at least since anyone had been in it. There was a faint odor that suggested something organic had been decaying in there for a while. Jamie shut the door and tried another. Again, a recently disused laboratory. 

Jamie shut that door too and continued to the end of the corridor. He opened the door there and was greeted with an ancient, crumbling stone staircase. The walls here too were lined minimally with burning torches. Shrugging, he carefully made his way upward, struggling to see where he stepped in the dim lighting. One wrong step onto a bit of crumbling rock could mean slipping and falling, most likely not fatally but certainly loudly. He had no desire to alert whoever resided here to his presence, seeing as they had already demonstrated hostile intentions. 

He'd gotten the shrewd idea that whoever had kidnapped him had something to do with the unnaturally antagonistic mushrooms. It wasn't hard to figure out, especially after traveling for so long with the Doctor. 

The building he was in was gigantic and made entirely of cold, crumbling stone. It looked to Jamie like the inside of a medieval-style castle. Once he was no longer in the lower levels, the rooms were much better lit with sunlight that streamed through high, thin windows, but it wasn't a warm or pleasant light. It was a light that cast shadows, a light that was never quite bright enough to see into corners clearly. It wasn't exactly sinister, as such, but it was far from welcoming.

The hallways on the ground floor were much larger and the ceilings in certain areas rose higher than any Jamie had ever seen. Signs of use were far more prominent, but there was very little furniture. The skin of some animal Jamie didn't recognize graced the floor of one room as a rug, and here and there would be a small table or a mirror. In one room there was a bed frame, but there had quite clearly not been a mattress in it for ages. 

Instinct told Jamie to move upwards. There was another story above him, and he felt he had to find a way of getting there. Yet despite opening door after door after door, he still had found no stairs. He also had not found an exit, and even if he had been able to escape he did not know the way back to the Doctor. It would do no good for him to get lost. 

Jamie was becoming seriously frustrated. The castle was so big and everything looked so similar that he had lost track of where he had and hadn't been. He was sure he was opening some doors he had opened before. He'd just given up and plopped down to pout when he spotted something bright red out of the corner of his eye.

Jumping quickly and quietly to his feet, Jamie crept towards the source of the color. It turned out to be exactly what he expected: one of those same strange creatures who had kidnapped him. The leather-clad... thing moved with a lurching gait, as though it did not have complete control over its basic motor functions. Jamie followed silently several meters behind it, hoping it would lead him somewhere helpful. 

It did. It led him to a stairwell, the door to which was located in a heavily shadowed corner. Jamie had completely missed it. 

There was a gargoyle above the door. It looked massively out of place, despite the fact that it was technically an ugly stone sculpture inside an ugly stone building. What little Jamie actually knew about gargoyles told him that they were supposed to be on the _outside_ of buildings and had something to do with rainwater. He supposed that maybe this one served a different purpose. After all, he wasn't on Earth. 

Jamie waited until the sound of the creature's footsteps was a suitable distance away, then opened the door and started up the stairs after it, moving as quietly as he could. They were long and winding, and there were once again no windows. Jamie had to feel with his hands a couple times to make sure he wasn't going to step anywhere unfortunate.

At the top of the stairs was yet another corridor. He saw the distinctive red disappear around a corner and hurried after it. He rushed around the corner without thinking to look first, scared of losing the creature and being lost again. He very nearly skidded directly into the creature he had been following. 

"You will come with us," the creature monotoned. 

"Gah!" Jamie shouted in surprise. 

"You will come with us," the creature monotoned again.

"I will no-- Who's 'us?'" Jamie asked, backing up slowly and reaching for his boot. He backed right into something hard that he knew wasn't a wall, because there hadn't been a wall there less than a minute ago. The red leather creature that appeared behind him grabbed his wrists in a grip that could easily become bone shattering at a moment's notice. Jamie froze.

"You will come with us," they intoned together. 

**--**

The Doctor was still pacing when one of the villagers brought them news that Jamie had been kidnapped by a group of men in red leather.

"Oh no, oh no!" the Doctor said in response. "He always wanders off. Did they take him in the direction of the castle?"

The villager was so distraught he didn't respond. Kapila drew the young man aside and waved some incense under his nose. The smoke seemed to calm him down, and she whispered a few words in his ear. The boy nodded, swaying back and forth as though in a trance, and whispered something back. Kapila nodded and patted him on the back.

"Good man," she whispered as he left the tent. "He lost his sister to the mushrooms a moon ago," she explained. "He says that your companion was indeed taken in the direction of the castle, though he did not linger long to watch, nor did he follow." She sighed. "I never thought I'd say this, so mischievous a child he was, but he has lost all his curiosity, and it is a terrible thing to behold."

The Doctor nodded, sharing her feelings, when a thought struck him. "You said you were traders, you pride yourselves on communication and knowledge. Surely curiosity plays a great role in your society?"

Kapila nodded, "Yes, of course, I didn't mean to imply it did not."

"And the mushrooms were a notable event! Did your explorers keep records of where they could be found?"

"Why, yes. We handed out maps so people would not wander into them by accident. Unfortunately, their rate of growth has long exceeded our ability to keep our records up-to-date."

"May I see them?"

Kapila dug through the stacks of pillows to withdraw a massive sheet of papyrus-like paper that measured about one and a half by two meters. On it, the locations of the mushrooms were marked in colored ink, with different shades and hues marking the dates they sprang up. The Doctor could see Kapila's curiosity was piqued, for she could not see why this information would interest him.

"We already established the mushrooms came from the castle," Kapila said.

"Hmm, most interesting. Why yes, my dear Kapila, the mushrooms did come from the castle, but look, here at the outskirts, the numbers are small for a very long time before suddenly, their population exploded and they covered the remaining distance between the castle and your village."

"Their growth is exponential, of course, even with some deaths."

"Mushrooms have disappeared or died?"

"Yes, we've seen their mangled bases where they once were, as though they had been torn apart; we could only assume that scavengers got to them after they died."

"But see, the rate of growth of the mushrooms at the outskirts is significantly less than exponential. They weren't dying of their own accord; something was keeping their population in check!"

"You don't mean?"

"A predator-prey model much better explains this growth than unlimited population expansion. These mushrooms can be destroyed! We must find out how!"

"No, Doctor, we can't. You're proposing we journey to the fringes of the mushroom growth, but that means we must _go through_ the heart of their territory."

"Well, not quite. Would you be willing to brave a journey through the mysterious with me?"

Kapila looked doubtful. "I will go and aid you however I can. You are our only hope."

"I'm sorry, my dear, but I'm afraid you don't have the hair to pull off that phrase. Now we must go!" The Doctor clapped his hands together in apparent excitement and rushed out of the house.

"But Doctor, where are we going?" Kapila called after him. Sighing, she hiked up her dress and ran after him.

Although the circumstances of their journey to the village had been haphazard at best, the Doctor soon found his way back to the TARDIS. It became clear that the giant mushroom they'd fled had not sprung up between them and the TARDIS, but rather, in the confusing environment of the giant blades of grass, they had gone the wrong way. He'd always been curious what it would be like to be an ant; now he knew, and he felt it to be quite an overrated experience.

"Come on in!" the Doctor exclaimed as he entered the TARDIS.

"In there? But it's small. It is inappropriate for two of the opposite gender to occupy such a small space."

"Really, Kapila? With the tapestries you have up in your home, you think this is inappropriate? Well, do not fear! Take a look!"

Kapila gasped as she peered into the TARDIS. "It's bigger on the inside!"

"Yes, yes, everyone seems to think that." The Doctor shut the door and ran up to the console. "Now hold on. Things may get a little bumpy."

He reset the coordinates and made sure they would be traveling in space only. Then he slammed down a lever, and the TARDIS began to rock.

"Oh my!" Kapila gasped as she lost her footing. The Doctor caught her, but another sway of the TARDIS sent them both onto the console. "Oh my, Doctor!" she said again. "Now I'm certain that _is_ an inappropriate place to put your hands."

The Doctor showed her both his hands. "What are you talking about?"

Kapila glanced down. "Oh, never mind." She quickly clambered off the console. The TARDIS stopped shaking soon afterward, and the Doctor bounded to the door. Kapila followed. "Where are we?"

The Doctor opened the doors. "The edge of the mushroom field!"

"_HRAAARGRAAAAACH!!_"

The Doctor leapt back, arms outstretched to keep Kapila from moving past him, as a giant mushroom bore down on the entrance. "Don't worry, we're quite safe in here."

"_HYUUUUUUUURK!_"

Everything went dark. Then the ship began groaning as slime seeped in through the open doorway. The two of them backed away as gill folds began pushing through the entrance, dilating spores all over the interior of the TARDIS. They heard a whistling sound, like air being forced through a tiny hole, and then the entire floor slanted as the mushroom lifted the TARDIS up in an attempt to force it down its gullet.

Kapila screamed as they went sliding toward the door. The Doctor grabbed a lever on the console with one hand and her arm with his other. He grunted, the force of stopping her driving all the air from his lungs. They hung there, panting, as the floor tilted at a steeper and steeper angle. With his hands occupied, there was nothing he could do, and there was no way to turn on the TARDIS' drive.

"Doctor!" Kapila cried. "The spores!"

The Doctor looked over and saw the spores setting out tendrils that seemed to melt their way into the floor and walls. His attention was diverted when he and Kapila suddenly dropped another inch toward the mushroom's stomach. The lever was slipping.

The sleeve of Kapila's dress tore from his grip, and she began falling. She screamed, but she managed to get a firm grip about his leg. The impact caused the lever to slip a little further.

The Doctor glanced at her, trying to see if there was a way he could swing Kapila to safety before she fell any further. That was when he noticed the tendrils were beginning to sprout mushrooms of their own. As though he were watching a time-lapse film, folds and folds of cells began growing and twisting over themselves and spreading until they expanded into fully-formed mushrooms about thirty centimeters tall. Then the growth stopped.

"Oh, that's not too bad," he said. They were, in fact, rather cute-looking little mushrooms, insofar as inanimate fungi could be considered cute. The fact that they were possibly fanged did little to worry him, as they were all too far from them to do any harm. "They're wee bitty things," he added, quite proud that he could pass for Scottish if he ever met any of Jamie's clan members.

"I don't like them!" Kapila said, trying to pull herself up his leg.

"Look, they're quite harmless," he reassured her. All at once, flaps on their heads snapped open, revealing shiny black eyes, and the mushrooms opened their mouths to snap and snarl in their direction. Their little fangs gleamed under the TARDIS' lights as drool oozed out of their mouths. "Well, they're far away, at least. They can't get us." Kapila moaned. Tiny _pops_, like suction cups being pulled off of glass, sounded as tendrils began detaching from their anchor points. One of the mushrooms flopped from the ceiling onto the floor with a soft squishing sound and rolled around a little before righting itself with little suckers on its base. Then it began bouncing toward them. The Doctor sighed. "Oh dear, me and my big mouth."

The lever chose that exact moment to give away. The Doctor's fingers slipped, and the two of them screamed. Kapila clung to him tighter than she had yet, but that did little for them as they slid directly toward the doorway with nothing to stop their fall. The little mushroom snapped at them as they swept past. As they fell closer and closer to the giant mushroom's throat, the Doctor could see its sharp fangs trying to work their way through the TARDIS' hull.

Then, there was another lengthy screech of metal against metal as the mushroom snapped about its base, trying to work the TARDIS into its stomach. The action came none too soon as he and Kapila were about to fall through the egress when the TARDIS shook and tilted in the other direction, throwing them clear to the opposite end of the room. The mushroom shook again, this time tossing the Doctor, Kapila, and the baby mushrooms onto the ceiling.

Kapila screamed as one of the mushrooms closed its fangs on her hair. The Doctor hit it. For a moment, there was just more slime as the mushroom's soft membrane gave way under the impulse of his fist, but then it dislodged and went flying across the room. The Doctor felt a sharp sting as another one bit down on his foot. He shook his foot, slamming it against the floor and squishing it. It exploded in a burst of mucus.

The TARDIS re-oriented itself again, and they slid along the ceiling to crash against one of the side walls. Kapila screamed and covered her face as one of the mushrooms slammed into the wall right above her head.

"_EEEEEEEG!_" it cried as it splattered into several chunks of ooze.

"Look on the bright side," the Doctor said, wiping slime off his face. "At least no more spores are coming in."

Another groan, and they struck the opposite wall. This time the Doctor landed on several of the fungi, which was quite a disturbing experience, although he had to admit that it cushioned the fall quite well and at this rate, the problem of their infestation would take care of itself.

"_HRAGARGH!_"

The remaining mushrooms began closing in on them, clearly realizing this might be their last chance to get at their prey. The Doctor kicked at them as they approached, sending them in every direction to explode as they struck various pieces of equipment. 

"I feel like I'm Mario," he muttered.

"What?" Kapila asked, between wild kicks.

"Never mind, just remind me to thank Nintendo one day," the Doctor said. Then the half-formed idea struck him. "Oh, of course!"

He jumped into the nearby corridor, then promptly fell back out as the TARDIS flipped over yet again. "Oh my giddy aunt!" he exclaimed as several more mushrooms exploded about him.

"Hurry up!" Kapila told him.

"Right, right, of course." He scrambled back onto his feet as quickly as he could, given that he was trying to find his footing amidst an inch of slime. He charged into the nearest storage room and started tossing plungers into the main control room. "Stick these onto the floor! There should be enough slime that nothing will dislodge them!"

Kapila began following his instructions, and soon, they were pulling themselves amidst a forest of plungers, largely immune to the giant mushroom's capricious motions. The Doctor spared a moment to pat the TARDIS' console. "Good job," he said, proud that it had withstood swallowing for so long. The mushroom was clearly having trouble with its meal, as rumbling moans were filling the air, the mushroom's lamellae breaking down under the strain of its strenuous activity.

"_HYEEEEK!_" a baby mushroom told him, popping out from behind a row of toilet plungers. It latched itself onto his arm.

"Oh my, oh dear!" the Doctor cried, shaking his arm wildly. The mushroom refused to let go, and he could feel its fangs sinking in deeper and deeper until a plunger appeared out of nowhere and latched onto the mushroom right above its eyeline. It swiveled its eyes up to peer at the rubber encasing its head and had one moment to issue a loud squeal before Kapila pulled it off him. She whirled the plunger in the air once, then twice, and all the time, the mushroom kept screaming, "_YAAAAIEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEEEEeeeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeee_!" in time with the Doppler effect of its elliptical motion. Then she let go and the plunger flew against the wall, crushing the creature.

"How are we going to get out of here?" she asked him.

At that moment, they heard a, "_HAAAAAAAAIIIIYAAAAAAAAAAAAIEEEEEEEEEEEE_!" a thousand times louder than any sound the miniature mushrooms had made. Then there was a sickening _GLURP_ and the TARDIS lurched. The Doctor and Kapila clung to each other as there came one jarring crash after another and the TARDIS spun over and over on its side. Then there was a splash and water flooded the control room. Kapila screamed as the force of the incoming wave pulled them apart. The Doctor breast-stroked toward the console, fighting the current as the water level rose higher and higher. Finally, he reached the controls and activated the engines. Bubbles gurgled from his mouth as he sighed in relief at the familiar _vworp, vworp_ of the TARDIS, and the water began to roar back out through the door when they rematerialized back where they'd been attacked by the giant mushroom.

**--**

Soon enough, they were mostly dry again. The TARDIS was pleasantly free of slime or any other remnants of the attack, although they would have to let it air out for a few days before going on any lengthy journey. The Doctor nodded in approval. Everything always worked itself out in the end, and the absence of a second attack by the mushroom was encouraging. He motioned toward a haggard-looking Kapila, and they exited cautiously.

The Doctor jumped up and down and clapped his hands together when he saw what awaited them. "Yes, yes! My suspicions are confirmed!" Kapila just gaped.

Before them, a gigantic deer some twenty-five meters tall at its head was bent over the chewed-up remains of the giant mushroom and taking casual nibbles, its eyes closed in satisfaction as its tongue swept up the slime that was oozing across the ground. As it ate, several more deer appeared. Further away, he saw a deer grappling with another giant mushroom, darting in and nipping at it, ripping off chunks of its membrane before backing away out of the reach of the fungi's fangs.

"But they will not approach the village," Kapila said. "The giant deer are known to us, though we understand few of their habits. Nevertheless, they prefer the forest and the trees to the grasslands."

"Ah, but we could lure them closer! They seem to enjoy the mushrooms, but there are other delicacies deer enjoy as well." The Doctor peered into the horizon. "Yes, yes, indeed, there are more further away, enough appetites to eliminate maybe the entire field in hours."

"But what do they enjoy? You know more than us about these deer."

"Hmm, well, on Earth, I remember feeding deer with salt licks, you know, giant cubes of salt, but we had to manufacture those, and it's not like we can just put together enough salt to tempt even one of them. The quantities we're talking about would have to be enormous."

"What are you talking about, Doctor? You mean salt as in the white salt we use to season meals with?"

"Yes, yes, of course."

"But Doctor, salt grows on trees!"

"I, yes, yes, my dear... excuse me, you said _what_?"

"It grows on trees. These cubes you were talking about. Look!" Kapila pointed, and the Doctor followed her finger to one of the trees looming overhead. Its trunk looked like a thousand vines woven together into one thick mass and was probably twenty meters in diameter. The trunk extended up some hundred meters before exploding into a canopy of leaves. Amidst the leaves, hanging off of branches by some spindly growths, there were small, square-ish white splotches that the Doctor would never have recognized as salt had Kapila not said so.

"You're sure that's salt?"

"Yes, we harvest the fallen cubes at times to use on our food. It's quite a delicacy and very difficult to obtain."

"Well, I can see why." If he could see the cubes at this distance, they had to be massive, probably larger than the deer themselves. Well, at least size wouldn't be a problem.

"Oh no, do you mean the distance? We wait for the cubes to fall."

"Still, it must take teams to move them."

"No, the cubes fracture upon impact and are quite easy to carry."

The Doctor wondered if she was deliberately being contrary now, but knowing she was not, he began to feel uneasy. "Then why exactly is it difficult to obtain?"

"Because the slugs guard the trees."

_QUEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_. _Smush_.

"Oh no, it begins!" Kapila said, grabbing the Doctor and pulling him closer to the TARDIS so they could escape at a moment's notice.

Out of the grasses, a herd of slugs slid into view. The one leading the pack was significantly larger than the others and shimmered with a multitude of colors, like a fluorescent deep-sea squid. Whenever it let out a call, it would expand and contract, forcing air through its skin to call out, "_QUEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAA_!"

Squish.

The ground gave way before their bodies like loose dirt before a glacier, and they left glimmering, iridescent trails of slime in their wake. Their movement sounded significantly soft and mushy, and after their run-in with the mushrooms, the Doctor was glad they weren't closer; he'd had quite enough slime to last him several centuries. He had a nagging feeling this pleasant arrangement wouldn't last long, though.

At least fifty slugs were now gathered about the base of the tree, their feelers swaying in coordinated patterns as though part of some ritual. The leader puffed up almost twice its original size.

"_BRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGAAAA-pshhhhhhh-EEF-EEF-EEF-EEF-EEF-EEF-EEF-EEF_!"

"_ROOOOOEEEEWWOOOOOOOOQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSHHHHHHH_!" the other slugs replied.

"_BRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEE-GAF-GAF-GAF_!"

"_EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETTTTTTTHHHHHHHHHHSSSSHHHHHHHHH_!"

The Doctor frowned. "It sounds like a flatulent, deaf children's choir. What are they doing?"

"I do not know, but they try to drive off any who approach the salt trees. Only the bravest of our citizens dare make salt runs, for almost always someone on the team returns injured, and several die each year. I would forbid the practice altogether, except my people love their salt too much."

"You should tell them too much salt is bad for you. It's true, my dear. Unfortunate, but true."

As the Doctor thought about the situation, he unconsciously licked his wet lips. He was surprised when they tasted salty. Looking across the plains between the grassland and the forest, he saw the massive craters the TARDIS had left as it rolled into the water. He pointed. "Kapila, do the salt trees always grow around water?"

Kapila considered the question for a moment. "Not around every body of water--that would be unfortunate, as the slugs would be everywhere. But yes, they only grew near water."

The Doctor brightened. "That's it! Of course, it all makes sense now! You've never seen salt trees by a freshwater pond, have you?"

"No."

"Don't you see, my dear? The ecosystem here is somewhat different from other planets I've been to, but it's close enough to one called Earth that I think all comparisons are valid. Almost all living land-bound organisms need freshwater, not salt water, but those that cannot obtain fresh water must needs create their own or evolve to adapt to the salt water. Clearly these trees are from a salt-water environment, and over the years, they did _both_. Evolution made them incorporate salt as part of their biological processes, so they need to grow near salt water, but all the excess salt they take up is filtered out and expelled through a secondary branch system up in the canopy. As for the slugs, they're _worshipping_ the trees! Slugs can't take salt; any amount they come into contact with will kill them, so the trees hold the power of life and death over them. Their activity suggests they are least semi-sentient, and therefore they would worship the trees as gods. When they are good, the trees extract salt from their environment, and when they are bad, it rains punishment down on them from the skies!"

"Doctor, that's brilliant!"

"Why thank you, I'm rather proud of my theories myself."

"But if, as you suggest, the snails worship the trees, how are we going to get the salt? They will protect it with all the zeal of religious fanaticism! We will be committing ultimate sacrilege in their eyes!"

"Well, that's where the TARDIS comes in again."

Kapila crossed her arms. "Is that a good idea? Look where it got us last time."

"Yes, well, mushrooms don't grow on trees, do they?" The Doctor paused and eyed her suspiciously. "They don't on this planet, do they?"

"No, no," she reassured him. "Er, not that I'm aware of, anyway. It's rather high up. So I suppose it's safest to say mushrooms don't fall from trees here."

"Oh, crumbs. Well, no use in delaying, my dear. Let's go."

When they re-entered the TARDIS, the Doctor changed his assessment and decided it needed a little more than some airing out. Thankfully, he knew a great cleaner about 10,000 years from now who did good jobs for a very reasonable price.

He programmed in the new coordinates, hoping they were accurate enough, but the branches were so wide he figured they wouldn't have any problem. He hit the lever, and the TARDIS began rocking.

A few seconds later, they were standing a hundred meters up and looking down on the slugs below. It was disconcerting that only now did they look remotely the correct scale, but thinking in Earth terms only skewed his depth perception and made his mind trick him into thinking he wasn't high up, and he hated to think he could fall prey to visual illusions so easily.

"Oh look, there's a salt block just ahead," he announced.

He went back into the TARDIS and retrieved a long length of rope. "This should do the job quite nicely."

The salt blocks were some fifty meters on each side and suspended by a secondary network of vines that enveloped the branches. It looked as though the network extended into the cubes themselves, like the core of an apple, allowing the salt to accumulate to such sizes. The cubes were connected to the vines via one central braided stem.

Attaching one end of the rope to the TARDIS, the Doctor took the other and carefully worked his way down the vines to the top of the cube. The block was surprisingly sturdy and solid, though grains of salt shifted beneath his shoes as he made his way across the surface.

"Be careful!" Kapila warned. "We have observed the cubes with our magnifying devices, and this one looks ripe."

"Ripe? What do you mean--" He heard a creaking noise. "Oh dear."

He took one flying leap and grabbed the vines as the salt cube shuddered and broke loose, the stem fraying and snapping into a thousand whirling strands that threatened to pull him down with them. One flew right past his leg but missed, and then the cube was rapidly shrinking from sight.

"_MOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_!" one of the slugs bellowed as the cube landed on it. "Mroaaaaawwwrr?"

There was a wet popping noise as the slug exploded. The Doctor paused in his efforts to climb back onto the branch to stare. "That's curious. Salt's sort of supposed to desiccate slugs."

"I guess our worlds are not so alike after all," Kapila answered, helping pull him back up.

"Oh my," he said, wringing his hands. "I didn't mean for them to get hurt."

"It serves them right!" Kapila stamped her foot.

The Doctor looked at her in shock. "My dear, we have killed an innocent creature."

"I think not," Kapila said scornfully. "These are the big slugs, larger than most. Every half moon, they raid villages to steal people and throw them into the great salt lakes. If you are right, then they were sacrifices to the salt tree gods."

"Oh dear," the Doctor said.

"We are more fortunate than most, since we are in the grasslands and far from the trees, but every so many moons, we lose a child to them as well."

"I suppose that gives us the moral high ground, then. Well, we must not delay. Let's try to get another one, a little less ripe this time, please."

They found one a little ways further down the branch. It was smaller than the first, but not significantly, and the Doctor managed to get the rope tied around it. Then he retrieved a blowtorch from the TARDIS and cut the stem. There was a brief, concerning moment when the rope reached the end of its slack and threatened to pull the TARDIS off the branch, but the TARDIS was heavy enough to hold its ground.

"Now let me show you what else the TARDIS can do," the Doctor said. He activated a second set of controls, and the TARDIS gently lifted into the air.

"Oh, I like this method a lot better," Kapila said.

"Now this will require a lot of fine-tuning, so why don't you operate the controls and I can guide you from the door?"

Kapila backed away. "No, no, I wouldn't begin to understand--"

"Oh, it's easy! See this, just push it in the direction I tell you: forward, backward, left, or right. I've fixed the altitude so it won't go up or down, which should be fine since the ground here is flat, though if you must make adjustments, you just push this knob up or down."

"That's it?" she asked dubiously.

"Yes, my dear, see, you're a natural!" he cried when the TARDIS responded smoothly to her touch. He rushed to the door. "All right, now first we must lure the deer, so we must move a little further into the forest."

He guided her slowly toward the herd of deer, then put two fingers between his lips and whistled shrilly. All the deer perked their heads up, their ears swiveling around to identify the source of the noise. Then they saw it, and he could feel their attention focus on the salt cube, but none moved.

"All right, they've noticed us, but we must move a little closer. Come on, forward a little, yes, now right, right, oh, left a bit, now right a little more, yes, yes, perfect! Oh no, it's running away. Forward! Forward! No no no _back!_"

"Make up your mind!" Kapila yelled. Then the TARDIS shook, and the Doctor winced. The salt cube swung forward in a deceptively slow arc and slammed into the terrified deer.

"_OOOOOOOOOOAAAAARRR!!_" it said as it flew into the air. Kapila's jaw dropped as the deer soared past the open doorway, its eyes wide open and its mouth foaming in terror. Then there was a loud _thump_ as it hit the ground again.

"It's ok!" the Doctor announced. "It's getting up. It's all right."

Now all the deer were approaching out of curiosity, which did not bode well for the species' long-term survival, but things looked quite good for the Doctor, anyway. One of the deer finally approached the salt cube and licked it tentatively. Its ears perked up, and it was about to try a second taste when the Doctor yelled, "BACK!"

Kapila hit the controls and the TARDIS soared away. The deer took only one moment to ponder this development before it took off after them. The others noticed and quickly followed behind, and soon there was a stampede. Then the Doctor noticed a problem.

"Kapila, up!" Nothing happened. "Up!"

"What? Up? Oh _up_!"

After the first slug exploded from the falling cube, the others had broken from the ritual and scattered, but now they were regrouping and the TARDIS was headed straight for them. Even worse, the salt lick was low enough that it would likely hit a slug. The Doctor didn't know how the deer would react to an exploding slug, but he didn't want to take any chances. They needed to get this done so he could find Jamie.

"Doctor, it's stuck!"

"There's a safety! The green button next to the lever."

"There's six green buttons!"

"The moderately large-sized one!"

"_What?_"

"_AAAAAUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!_" One of the slugs doubled over on itself and unfolded into a giant leap as the others whistled dramatically in what the Doctor could only assume was a war cry. It flung itself onto the salt cube, and the TARDIS tilted.

"Oh no," the Doctor managed before he fell out through the doorway. There was a great _glurp_, and he was hit full on by a wave of slime as he plummeted toward the salt cube. He landed on its surface with a loud, "Oomph" and quickly stood up to grab hold of the rope. The cube was now swinging wildly, and he could hear Kapila screaming back in the TARDIS. The deer were now trampling through the slugs' territory, and the slugs were retaliating by slamming their bodies into the deer and trapping them with slime. Before long, however, one of the slugs let out a long, lowing cry and as a unit, the group turned and began chasing the TARDIS.

"Doctor, what do I do?" Kapila cried.

"Fly us back to your village! Can you do that?"

"I think so! Should I go up?"

"No, the deer are still following! Keep going-- _AGH_!" He ducked as a slug went flying over his head. The cube caught it as it swung into the slug's downward arc and there was a huge explosion.

"What happened?" Kapila yelled.

"The slugs are after us, that's all. They seem to be intent on punishing religious blasphemy."

"_We're not luring the slugs back to my village!_"

"I'm afraid you have to, my dear!"

The TARDIS banked sharply right, and the Doctor nearly lost his grip as the cube began swirling in erratic circles. "Try to drive a little more carefully!"

"I'm _trying_!"

"_MOOOOO!_" The cube slammed against one of the slugs and flung it into the face of one of the deer, whereupon it promptly exploded. The deer reared upward and kicked the TARDIS.

"AAAAAAAAH!!" Kapila flew out through the doorway and landed next to the Doctor.

"Who's driving now?" the Doctor asked. Kapila gave him an incredulous look. "Hold on tight!"

They pressed themselves against the rope as the cube slammed into one of the deer. Massive strands of fur tugged at their clothes before the deer soared away. Then they screamed, "AAAAAAAAAAAH!" as the cube swung the other direction and plowed into a slug.

_SPLAT!_

Overhead, the TARDIS began spinning madly, and though the altitude lock was still holding, it was beginning to lurch drunkenly, unable to follow a straight line. The cube began spinning as well.

"Oh no!" the Doctor cried. Their feet lifted off the cube as they began spinning with the TARDIS round and round and round.

"_EEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOO!!_" Several slugs got caught up in their tornado and their remains went spinning out in all directions. Then the TARDIS let out an erratic sequences of bleeps and bloops and began losing altitude. Thankfully, through the blades of grass that were slamming into their faces, the Doctor could make out the village growing larger up ahead.

"Well, this will work out nicely! Hold on!!"

They closed their eyes as the cube struck the ground. Massive clods of dirt exploded into the air as they plowed a furrow through the grass. The rope went taut, then made a creaking sound before it snapped. The TARDIS went flying off into the distance and slammed into the ground with explosive force.

"Let go, let go!" the Doctor yelled as the cube began flipping over. He and Kapila both let go and went flying ahead of the cube. They landed just as it flipped upside down, but then they realized they were still in its path.

"YAAAAH!" Kapila covered her face with her arms. The cube struck the ground, bounced up over them, then landed beyond her and kept rolling. It began fracturing, and by the time it reached the village, it had shattered into thousands of pieces.

"Look out!" the Doctor cried.

Kapila rolled over just as a giant hoof came down on where she had been. The Doctor stood and ran to her. Then he had to push her out of the way as an enraged slug, glowing bright red, glided past.

"My village!" she screamed.

"Mushroom!" the Doctor screamed.

The two of them jumped out of the way as a giant mushroom buried its fangs into the ground. It pulled up, and let out a rumbling roar. As one, giant mushrooms reared their heads all over the grasslands, and the deer paused, looking around. Then they turned from the village and began bounding toward the mushrooms.

"_Yerk?_" the offending mushroom said. Then three deer tore it apart.

"Ha ha! It worked! It worked!"

"The slugs!"

"Oh, oh dear, oh my," the Doctor said, wringing his hands.

The slugs were tearing at the buildings on the outskirts of the community, and terrified villagers were running into Kapila's own home for shelter. The Doctor and Kapila ran up.

"Don't you have any weapons or anything?" Kapila demanded.

"I don't... let me think..."

"Think _faster_!"

"Oh my, I-- oh look."

"What?"

The Doctor pointed at the closest slug. It had stopped attacking, and colors were swirling through its skin in a pattern of confusion. "_QUUUUUUUEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeooooooo_."

Water began seeping through its skin in greater and greater quantities, and then it simultaneously expanded and imploded. Slime went flying through the air as the slug exploded.

"Yes! Of course! The salt, my dear, the salt!"

A fine sprinkling of white crystals was falling from the sky, pieces of the cube that had burst upwards on the first impact. Now they rained down on the slugs, and one by one, each exploded. Soon, the village was covered in slime but safe from any further attacks. In the surrounding area, the deer were making good work of the fanged mushrooms, and the Doctor grinned.

"Oh, this will take forever to clean up," Kapila said, but she was smiling too.

In the village, people were exiting from the central dwellings and looking around in wonder. Then they began cheering, and the young man who had brought the news of Jamie's capture ran up to them.

"Thank you, Kapila! Thank you, Doctor!" he said. "And look!" He picked up a handful of slug from the ground and put it in his mouth. "It tastes salty!"

Kapila and the Doctor exchanged glances, but at the boy's prompting, they each took a bite. Kapila nodded in surprised approval. "It tastes good!"

"Well, looks like you won't be starving any time soon," the Doctor said, chewing thoughtfully. "Hmm, tastes like chicken."

The boy took their hands and led them back to the village. The other villagers surrounded them, jumping up and down in excitement, and there was talk of a feast, but the Doctor held up his hands and requested silence. When the village had calmed, he announced, "Today's developments are indeed great news, but the struggle is not over. Now that your village is safe, I must rescue my friend and make sure the mushrooms do not return."

Several villagers stepped forward. "We will accompany you and make sure you are safe."

The Doctor glanced at Kapila who nodded, so he accepted their offer gratefully. "Thank you, but we must leave immediately."

"That won't be a problem," a brawny man said.

Kapila brushed some slime off his sleeve. "Surely you will want to get clean."

"If I remember correctly, I heard a stream when we first arrived. Is there one between here and the castle?"

"Yes."

"I'm sure fording it will get me quite clean, then."

Kapila nodded. "You are a great man, Doctor. Good luck!"

The Doctor grinned and bowed. "At your service." Then he ran for the castle, slime sloshing between his feet and the soles of his shoes. This wasn't quite the relaxing vacation he'd had in mind, but he had to admit this adventure had a sort of unique charm to it.

**--**

Jamie was led forcefully into a brightly lit room. He didn't bother struggling against his captors. After all, even if he did manage to escape--which was unlikely, given their ridiculously strong grips--where would he go? He doubted he could even find his way back to the stairwell.

The room was large but had a slightly low ceiling. This posed no problem for Jamie, being a little short, but the leather creatures were tall and had to stoop. The room was featureless and devoid of any objects, except for the monstrosity in one of the back corners. The room was dominated by a giant glass jar, the sort pickles might come in, but instead of pickles it held what could only be described as a giant, greenish brain floating in a clear substance. There were wires coming from the lid that connected to some kind of speaker. 

It became immediately evident that the speaker was the brain's way of communicating.

"Ahhh, so this is the boy! He does look delicious," the brain said, its voice female and soothing, but also with an undertone of quiet static. 

"Ye're a brain? Ye're responsible for all these beasties? How?" Jamie asked, aghast. He struggled futilely against his captors for a moment.

"The inhabitants of this planet are weak. It takes so very little psychic influence to change the plant life." If a brain could grin, this one would be doing so now. The gentle female voice took on a distinctly prideful tone.

Jamie was terrified, and desperately trying not to let it show. Monsters and aliens and robots he could handle, but what was he supposed to do against a giant psychic brain in a jar? It seemed pretty helpless to look at, but who knew what it could really do? Even the Cybermen were preferable. At least he understood them to a degree.

"How do you like my boys? They looked so very much like you, once upon a time." The brain mused. Jamie was horrified.

"Wha' did you do to them?" he asked, not sure he really wanted to hear the answer. The brain laughed.

"Oh, I just enhanced them. Made them stronger, faster, more durable. They're just shells now. I had to get rid of their will so they'd do my bidding. And, of course, I dressed them. Aren't they lovely?"

"No! It's sick!" shouted Jamie, disgusted.

"Ahaha, and what would you know of it, you tiny--" The brain stopped mid-sentence and let out a deafening, echoing howl. "Intruders! Intruders! How did they get here?!" it bellowed. "Go, take care of them! Leave the boy. I'll deal with him." The minions obeyed instantly, letting go of Jamie's arms and stalking out the door. 

Jamie sunk to his knees and rubbed at his arms, relieved to have full circulation returned. _It's the Doctor_, he thought. _It's got to be!_

**--**

"The mushrooms are gone! Why should we have to go in there? I feel it is a sinister place," protested Lani, one of the villagers who had volunteered to come with the Doctor. Lani was little more than a boy, but very fit and light on his feet. Kapila had assured him that Lani was an excellent warrior. 

"Because," the Doctor explained, "if we don't stop the source, they will just come back. Also, I am sure that Jamie is in there and I must get him back." Now that his mind was no longer occupied by an immediate problem, the worry and fear for his friend that had been shoved into the back of his mind had surfaced and was filling him with dread.

"What are we waiting for, then?" asked Guida, a large, burly man who was Lani's opposite in almost every way. He didn't speak often, but everything about him was big and loud. He even breathed loudly.

"It's always better to assess the situation before barging in," the Doctor said. "But it looks quiet enough to me. In my experience, that's usually a bad thing, but I suppose there's no way to find out what's in there without seeing for ourselves. No sense in waiting any longer." Despite his calm tone and words, every fiber of his being longed to charge in; every nerve felt on fire, and adrenaline surged through him. With considerable effort, he forced himself to remain outwardly composed.

The final member of their little party was a short, stocky, bald girl named Qu. She was a good friend to Kapila and her self-appointed protector. She didn't say much unless necessary.

They approached the castle, doing their best to stay hidden, even though there didn't seem to be anyone to hide from. It was definitely a foreboding structure. Despite it being broad daylight out, the castle was lit as though it were the middle of the night and overcast to boot. It made an extremely surreal image. 

"This doesn't belong here," the Doctor said in wonder, pressing the palm of his hand to the cold stone. "In fact, I'd guess that it isn't, in any real sense, here at all. That's why the sun doesn't appear to shine on it. I suspect it's really somewhere else, somewhere where it's currently nighttime."

"That doesn't make sense! I can see it! It's right there! I can _touch_ it!" Lani whined. 

"Yes, well, I'm afraid I don't really understand it either. It's all speculation on my part. I've really never seen anything like this; it's quite fascinating." He pulled himself away and turned to the large double doors. "Shall we go in?"

"Uhh..." Lani began, but Guida and Qu each grabbed a giant iron ring and pulled open the massive wooden doors, then stepped briskly in. The Doctor followed and after only a moment's hesitation, Lani did as well.

They found themselves in a giant foyer. There were several doors on either side of them and a short half-level staircase at the end. Curiously, sunlight streamed in through the high windows, though it cast more shadows than it dispelled, and the Doctor wondered exactly how much of the castle was here and how much was elsewhere. Above them hung a very, very old chandelier. The Doctor moved forward a few steps and beckoned for his companions to do the same, not trusting the rusted metal hooks to keep the chandelier above them instead of on top of them.

There was hushed quiet, but it didn't stay that way for long. With no warning, doors on either side of them burst off their hinges and a tall, leather-clad humanoid stepped out of each. They both held whips which they cracked menacingly. 

"Run!" the Doctor shouted, recovering first and pushing the others forward towards the stairs. "Find a room!" Qu threw open the first door, then slammed it shut again. The Doctor found another and opened it to reveal an empty room. "In here!" he called, and all four ducked through. The Doctor slammed it shut and turned the lock, and Guida shoved an old, rotting dresser in front of it.

"Well, that won't hold them for long," Guida noted.

"We have to find a way of getting rid of them!" the Doctor said, pacing and trying desperately to think.

"Why don't we just fight? There are only two of them," Lani suggested, bouncing on the balls of his feet, itching for a fight.

"Oh, I very much doubt that would work," the Doctor said. "They are far faster and probably far stronger than any of us. No, we need a plan." The door shuddered from an outside blow, but held.

"The door at the top of the stairs," Qu began, "It leads to a cellar of some sort. The door is much heavier than this one, and there's a bolt lock."

"Simple but brilliant! If we can lock them down there, they might not be able to get out," said the Doctor excitedly. 

"Okay, but, if they're out there, how do we get out of here?" asked Lani. The Doctor paused and thought for a moment. The door looked close to giving.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," the Doctor said. "They're obviously mostly just drones, which means they're not too intelligent. If we stand against the wall on either side of the door, then when it opens and they come running in, we can slip out behind them. Guida, I'm going to need your spear." Guida looked doubtful, but handed it over anyway. "Good, good," the Doctor continued, and then went about explaining the rest of his plan. 

Two minutes later, they were all pressed against the wall, waiting breathlessly. It didn't take long. One final blow and the door and dresser both came away, and the creatures burst in. There was a moment of confusion when they found the room seemingly empty that the Doctor and his companions used to slip out. They raced down the hall and the Doctor hauled the door open. It was perfect. Unlike the other doors, this one was extremely heavy and reinforced with what looked like iron. It was still made of wood, but it was at least six inches thick. It took up over half the hallway, and all four of them had no trouble hiding behind it. At the last moment, the Doctor threw the spear down the stairs. 

The creatures dashed out of the room and, hearing what they thought in their tiny minds was their prey running down the stairs, ran down themselves. The Doctor waited a moment and then slammed the door shut, turning the lock and throwing the bolt. Then he sagged against the door, relieved. The relief didn't last long, however. He shot back to his feet.

"Jamie!" he said, and started to rush off, then paused when he realized he had no idea which direction to go. 

"What?" asked Guida, confused. "What's the rush? Isn't that it? Didn't we get them?"

"Oh, no, no. Those were just drones! They're being controlled by something, or someone. And besides, we only locked them in the basement! That may hold them for a couple days, but it won't hold them forever unless we get rid of their controller." A thought struck him. "Oh dear, what if Jamie was down there?" He wrung his hands worriedly. 

"Over here!" Qu shouted, having found another set of stairs with quick and efficient competency. 

"Right, right, yes, that's a good idea," the Doctor said, and followed her up. 

**--**

_They're going after the Doctor! I have to help him!_ Jamie thought, panicking. He forced himself to stand up, ignoring the aching in his arms as the blood flow returned. The gash he'd suffered earlier was throbbing and the bandage felt loose, but he ignored that too. He had to get to the Doctor. 

He made a dash for the open door, but it slammed shut in front of him. He tugged at it futilely, then whirled around.

"It won' open! Why won' it open?" he asked wildly, hating the feeling of helplessness that came from not being able to reach the Doctor.

"Psychic, remember? A mind this large, my masteries don't stop at telepathy!" boasted the brain.

_It's a giant brain in a jar_, Jamie thought frantically. _Wha' do I do? How do I kill a giant brain in a jar?_

"Wha' do ye want with _me_? Why no' just kill me?" he asked, stalling for time so he could think. Thinking wasn't his job! That was what the Doctor did!

_It's a brain! In a jar!_ his mind supplied helpfully. _Wha' am I good at? Fighting. Just fighting, and getting into trouble. I can't fight this! I can't even get to it! It's in a jar!_

"Is it not obvious?" the brain was saying. "I wish to turn you into another one of my beautiful boys. Do you like to be whipped? They love to be whipped. You will love it as well, shortly."

Jamie wasn't really listening to it, which was probably a good thing. His train of thought had come to the obvious conclusion. _Wait! I can get to it! It's just in a jar! It's made of glass! I can break glass! And if I break the glass..._

He lunged. He threw his whole weight at the jar, his shoulder slamming against the glass. Nothing happened. Then the brain started laughing, loud and long. 

"You didn't really think that would work, did you? You can't break this! No amount of battering will shatter this glass." The brain continued laughing, but Jamie ignored it and looked around for something to hit it with. Now his shoulder ached as well, and he regretted his rash attack. 

The stones in the walls and ceilings and floors were old and crumbling, and there were bits of rock sitting all over. Most were too small to do any damage to anything, but a few were larger. He ran for one, picked it up, and hurled it. Without pausing to see if it did anything, he grabbed another one and threw it as well. 

He glanced over at the brain as he ran for another stone. There was not even a scratch as far as he could see. Refusing to give up, he hurled another stone. Nothing. He searched for another stone large enough to possibly do any damage, but there weren't anymore. Everything else was just pebbles and dust. 

Jamie thought frantically. The awful laughing noise the brain was making was driving him to distraction. He covered his ears, but there was nothing. No ideas were coming. There was nothing he could do. And the Doctor! What was happening to him without Jamie to protect him?

The Doctor flew into the room. Jamie's head snapped up, and he fell right on his ass in surprise. 

"Doctor!" he cried. Three other people followed him in. Jamie paid them no attention at all.

"My word! This takes "mastermind" to a whole other level," said the Doctor, then walked over to Jamie. 

"Jamie, I'm so glad you're all right! Are you hurt?" Jamie shook his head mutely. The Doctor gave him a brief hug, and then stood. 

"Doctor, what the hell is that?!" shouted one of the men the Doctor had arrived with. It quickly occurred to Jamie to warn the Doctor.

"What is this invasion? Where are my boys?" the brain roared in furious confusion.

"Doctor, it's psychic! It controls people," he said urgently, standing up. The Doctor's face lost a little of its color and he spun around, barking orders to the people behind him.

"You three! Get out of here, now! Get back down and wait for us outside! If we don't come out within the hour, just run for it. Do not argue, there is no time for it, just _do as I say_." There was only a slight hesitation from the three, then they rushed out. The Doctor slammed the door behind them and locked it. 

The brain had fallen silent. The Doctor turned and froze. Jamie approached him, cautiously.

"Doctor, wha's been happening? How do we beat this thing? I tried to break the glass, but it's a wee bit too strong for me." The Doctor didn't acknowledge him, instead staring at the massive jar. Jamie placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. "Doctor, why are you all wet?"

"Ah ha!" the Doctor suddenly cried victoriously. "Never mind that now, Jamie," he said quickly, then addressed the brain again. "You think your pitiful telepathic skills are any match for me? You cannot take over my mind!" The brain let out a soundless bellow of fury.

"If I cannot have yours, then I will certainly have the boy's! He does not have the mental guards you do," the brain said. Jamie cast a panicked look at the Doctor, his right hand tightening on the Doctor's shoulder and his other falling to grip his arm. The Doctor just gave him a friendly, reassuring smile. The brain let out another chilling roar.

"I cannot see his mind! What is this block? He is primitive! None such as he should be able to block me!"

The Doctor stepped forward and out of Jamie's grip. All the friendliness from a moment ago was gone from his posture and his expression. When he spoke, his voice was cold and frightening. He was nothing like the kind, silly Doctor Jamie knew. 

"No," he said, "you cannot see this boy's mind, because he travels with _me_. My ship protects him, and nothing so powerless and insignificant as you shall have any hope of breaking that barrier. Now I offer you a choice. You return to wherever it is you came from, or you die right here." The brain laughed at him.

"I may not be able to penetrate you, but neither do you have any hope of killing me. Your boy already tried!"

"So you will not leave?"

"Never! I am invincible!"

"Oh, but you are not." The Doctor looked truly sad and regretful. He turned to look at Jamie. "You tried to crack the glass already?" Jamie nodded.

"Aye, but I couldn't. There isn't anything in here to hit it with, Doctor. How do you plan to--" He trailed off. The Doctor smiled briefly at him and pulled his recorder out of an inner pocket on his jacket. 

"Where physical force fails, Jamie, specific sound waves can crack even the hardest of glass." Jamie clamped his hands over his ears just in time as a loud, clear, shrill noise rang out. The brain screamed, for the first time in terror. A crack appeared in the glass of its jar, which quickly grew. Smaller cracks branched off from the first. Above them, the glass of the windows cracked as well. Abruptly, the Doctor stopped playing.

"Get down, Jamie, now!" he shouted and lunged to shield his friend as Jamie instinctively obeyed. Then the windows shattered and a rain of glass shards fell all around them. Moments later, the glass jar followed, spilling a watery liquid out all over the floor. The speaker shorted out, silencing the final terrible sounds of the dying brain. 

After a minute, the Doctor carefully stood, picking bits of glass out of his hair and shaking off his jacket. Jamie stood as well, doing the same.

"Not injured, are you, Jamie?" the Doctor asked kindly. Jamie shook his head, staring at the giant brain oozing out over the floor. He wrinkled his nose.

"Let's get out of here, Doctor. That smells," he complained. The Doctor began to agree, but stopped short when the entire room flickered.

"Oh no, Jamie! We have to get out of here at once! With that thing dead, there is nothing keeping the castle here! It's going to collapse in on itself!" They both sprinted for the exit, careful not to slip on any of the glass covering the floor. The Doctor swiftly unlocked the door and they bolted out. 

"I hope you know which way you're going, because I don' ken I remember!" Jamie yelled. 

"I hope I do too, Jamie!" the Doctor yelled back at him. The floor beneath their feet was shifting in and out of existence in some places, and they were having to be inconveniently cautious not to step on any areas that didn't exist. They found the stairwell and raced down it, then bolted for the exit. The doors were already open, and they shot out together. Behind them, the entire castle flickered, gave a giant groan, and then disappeared for good.

They both paused to catch their breath. The large, burly man hurried up to them. "That's it?" he asked.

"That's it," the Doctor confirmed with a happy smile. The man nodded.

"Lani and Qu went back to the village. I'll take you there now. Kapila will want to thank you.

"Ah, well, we are grateful for the offer, Guida, I'm sure, but would you be so kind as to take us back to our ship instead?"

"You don't wish to stay?" Guida asked.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, but we'd really better not. We must be getting on our way," the Doctor said. Guida looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded.

It wasn't actually that long of a distance to the TARDIS, and the trip was pleasantly free of feral fungi. Guida was actually only able to take them as far as the place they'd sprung the trap, but they thanked him and the Doctor was able to find his way to where it'd crashed with reasonable ease; he only had to follow the giant scorch marks in the earth.

"Why's the TARDIS upside down?" Jamie asked.

"Oh, never mind that, Jamie. In you go!"

"Och, I'm beat," Jamie said with relief as he entered. The Doctor followed him in, watching him fondly. "It's a wee bit smelly in here, isn't it?"

"Oh, I'll get it cleaned, don't worry. I think I had better take a look at that wound on your arm, Jamie," he said. "All that activity couldn't have been good for it, and it wasn't properly taken care of to begin with." Jamie rolled his eyes, but didn't bother arguing. 

As he stepped forward to allow the Doctor a look, he tripped over an inconveniently placed shoe. With a shout of surprise, he began to topple over. He threw his arms out to protect himself, as he saw the Doctor make a belated movement towards him out of the corner of his eye. His hands caught the control panel, and he gripped it to stop his fall. One hand slammed down on the coordinate controls, and the other grasped and pulled a lever.

"Oh, no, Jamie! What have you done?" the Doctor exclaimed. The sound of the TARDIS dematerializing filled the air. "Random coordinates! We could end up anywhere!" Jamie removed his hands from the console as if it burned and stared in shock.

"Doctor," he said slowly, "what do you mean, _anywhere_?"


	7. Chapter 4: I Can See Your BRAIN

**Chapter 4**

**I Can See Your BRAIN**

Lisa Cuddy quickly ascertained that there was nothing physically wrong with either Cameron or Chase--nothing that could have made them collapse like they did, anyway. Once all the necessary tests were run, there was nothing for it but to wait until they awoke. After hearing Jack Harkness' story and realizing his description of House's behavior did not contradict known facts, she'd sent several nurses to hunt her offending employee down. All returned empty-handed, until she had to tell herself repeatedly that screaming his name over the hospital PA system until he showed up would probably be playing into his hands. That thought was all that kept her from doing it.

After several uneventful hours, two things happened almost at once. First, Chase woke up gasping and immediately adopted a panicked look. Second, the door burst open and House barged in, followed by a sheepish-looking Wilson.

"What is going on?" Chase managed. "I feel weird... oh my god my voice--"

House gave him a funny look. "What happened to your accent?" he asked his suddenly non-Aussie employee.

"My--_what?_ OH MY GOD, I'M A MAN!"

"Brilliant observation. Did he hit his head?" Cuddy checked his vital signs again just to convince herself he wasn't going to drop dead. "He appears to be in perfect health. All his vitals are more-or-less normal." She shrugged.

"Can you remember what happened?" Jack asked Chase.

"What?" Chase asked.

"Chase!" House shouted, becoming bored with the proceedings, and remedying that by whacking Chase's leg with his cane. "Pull yourself together!"

"I'm not Chase!" Chase shouted back. There was a brief moment of silence.

"Are you sure there was no head trauma?" asked Wilson, looking doubtful.

"Who are you, then?" Jack inquired.

"Cameron. Obviously," said Chase.

"There was no cranial damage at all!" Cuddy said, wringing her hands.

"No. You're not," House said, staring at Chase. Chase chose that moment to spot Cameron lying on the bed next to him.

"Holy shit! It's me!" he exclaimed. "How come I can see myself? What's going on? Oh no, my makeup is smudged... I look terrible!"

"Okay, maybe you are," House conceded. The rest looked less convinced.

"Are you trying to tell me," Wilson said slowly, "that Cameron's mind is in Chase's body? Oh god. I can't take much more of this."

"It's possible," Jack said, obviously fascinated. Before anyone else could speak, there was a quiet moan from Cameron, who had awoken and was moving to prop herself up.

"Woah," she said. "I feel weird."

"Let me guess. You're Chase," House said.

"Uh. I think so?"

"You _think_?"

"They really switched minds!" Jack said.

"What?" Chase asked.

"I need to sit down," Cuddy announced.

"I have boobs!" Cameron sounded delighted.

"Don't you dare touch! Those are mine!" Chase shouted.

"Not anymore!" Cameron said gleefully.

"I'm not listening to this," Cuddy said, covering her ears with her hands.

"Cool!" House exclaimed.

"Is this some stupid joke? Did House put you guys up to this?" Wilson asked.

"As if," Chase said.

"I'm insulted!" House adopted an expression of mock disappointment.

"I wonder what sort of technology could do this," Jack mused.

"Bet it was that thing," House said.

"What?" Jack asked, turning to stare at House. "In the men's restroom, you claimed you didn't see anything!" Cuddy gave him an incredulous look as she realized Jack had known where House was all along.

"I have boobs!" Cameron contributed.

"Wish I had boobs," House muttered.

"What thing?" Jack demanded. 

"Retractable ones would be nice; it'd be annoying to have them jiggling around all day."

"_What thing_?"

House hesitated, then described finding the bizarre object, forgetting he had it for a day, eventually remembering and noting its unique qualities, and finally knocking Chase and Cameron out when they decided to butt in. There were a few moments of silence while they all absorbed this. 

"When did we become characters in a bad science fiction movie?" Wilson wondered weakly.

"About... three hours ago now, I would guess," Jack told him.

"What?" Cameron asked.

"Decameron?" House muttered, eyebrows raised. Wilson snorted. Cuddy glared.

"Glad you two find this so amusing," she snapped.

"That doesn't even make sense as a joke," Cameron-in-Chase's-body volunteered. 

"What?" Chase-in-Cameron's-body said again. House felt his headache returning with renewed vigor.

House had never been one to linger on what should and shouldn't have been possible. Impossible didn't interest him; impossible didn't have a solution, or even a puzzle. If it happened, it was possible, and so he viewed people who would respond to bizarre occurrences with a cry of "That's impossible!" as unobservant morons. The answer was more important than the question, in any case. Thus, when presented with the idea that Chase and Cameron's consciousnesses had apparently switched bodies, he accepted it as true and immediately began to work on the "how" and the "why".

He also quickly decided that thinking of them as "Chase-in-Cameron's-body" and "Cameron-in-Chase's-body" was just not going to work. So even though she may look like Chase, Cameron was still Cameron, and vice versa. 

"So, where did you put it?" Jack asked, interrupting House's thoughts.

"Put what?" he asked, annoyed.

"The alien device." Jack sounded equally annoyed. House shrugged.

"I couldn't find it. It fell on the ground, and I looked, but it was gone. You think I'd just let something like that out of my sight willingly?"

"You're sure it wasn't there anymore?"

"Are you stupid?"

"It must have teleported, then!"

"What?" Cuddy represented the sentiments of all her employees.

"It can't have gone far! Something that small can't have a far-reaching teleportation mechanism. Even with nanotechnology, it wouldn't fit." Jack was pacing now. "It's interesting that it somehow knew when it was time to teleport..."

"_What_?"

"Te-le-port. You know, disappearing and reappearing in another place? Happens all the time in movies?" Jack clearly thought she was an idiot. Cuddy huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Are you trying to tell me that there's some little... _thing_ around here somewhere that caused this? And it can _teleport_?" she said doubtfully. "We're in a hospital in New Jersey, not a spacecraft in some bad science fiction show. How do you know it didn't just roll under a chair or something?"

"Right, I'm finding it a little hard to believe that you can accept them"--Jack gestured towards Chase and Cameron--"but not this." 

For a few moments, Cuddy managed an awfully good imitation of a fish.

**--**

Tosh raced through the halls, leaving Monty gasping in her wake, until she found the room number Jack had given her. She threw it open and found Ianto on the ground in a pool of his own blood.

"Oh my god!" she gasped.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Ianto told her.

"Really?" Tosh said, just for the sake of having something to say, as she took Jack's wet coat from his hands and took a look at his wounds.

"I... counted," Ianto muttered. "It's only two pints."

Monty's eyes widened, and he looked a little sick. Tosh snapped at him. "What are you waiting for? Go get some doctors!" Monty turned and ran out of the room, yelling for help.

Ianto tried to prop himself up, but he collapsed back onto the floor. "Where's Jack? Did he get the artifact?"

"Stop moving," Tosh told him.

They soon found a doctor from the ER to examine his wounds. The injuries were indeed mostly superficial, and the prognosis was that Ianto could be up and about whenever he regained enough blood to be steady on his feet. They moved Ianto into a room close to Gwen's on the second floor, and then the inconvenient questions began.

"There was a patient running loose in the halls," Ianto said to the doctor. "Dr. Cameron enlisted my help to subdue him before he put himself or anyone else in danger."

The doctor looked unimpressed. "Really? A patient?"

"He got hold of a knife!" Ianto yelled, pretending to be outraged. "What kind of security does your hospital have, letting mentally unstable patients roam free with ready access to weapons? You should be thankful I'm not suing!"

With those magical last seven words, the doctor's demeanor changed completely. "Oh, well, yes, I assure you it was an isolated incident. I'm terribly sorry."

Tosh laid a hand on his arm. "If you speak with Dr. Cameron, she'll corroborate his story."

The doctor glanced at her and, being intelligent enough to realize when he should make his exit, retreated from the room, clutching his clipboard against his chest. As soon as he was gone, Tosh pulled Monty's artifact out of her laptop case. Monty flinched out of the way as she waved its tip past him, nearly tripping over his own feet. He caught himself against the window, thunking against the glass and drawing the attention of everyone outside. He grinned sheepishly and shut the blinds.

Tosh showed Ianto the rod, letting it rest horizontally upon her open palms. One of his eyebrows shot up in a slightly manic manner as he examined it.

"This is Korkekian technology," he said, glancing at Monty. "You say _he_ found this? In his office?"

"In the governor's office," Monty corrected. "Look, I swear, not a word to anybody, lips sealed." He put his thumb and index finger together and made a zipping motion across his mouth, whacking a lamp at the end of his gesture. "Ow!"

Tosh tried to ignore him as he hopped around the room clutching his hand. "I've never heard of the Korkekians."

"Unlikely you would; as far as I know, word of their existence never left Torchwood One, and then its archives were destroyed in--" Suddenly, he leaned forward, causing Tosh to flinch away and himself to wince and fall backward. "You didn't activate it, did you?"

"It, it went off, but I don't know how I could have--" She furrowed her brows in thought, and when Ianto noticed, he quickly snatched the rod out of her hands. When she looked, she was horrified to see it glowing, but once it left her grip, the light faded away again.

"It reads brainwaves," Ianto growled, holding the rod as though it were a poisonous snake. "You activate it by holding it and thinking about it activating."

Tosh and Monty both leapt away from the bed, trying to find cover as soon as he said 'activating,' but the rod didn't go off, and Tosh looked up in wonder. "How did you do that? How'd you talk about activating it without thinking it? I mean, mine was just a stray thought and it turned on!"

"It's possible to disconnect your words from your thoughts," Ianto replied.

_Well,_ she thought, _if anyone could do it, it'd be Ianto._ Her brief experience with Mary's mind-reading pendant had shown her just how hard it was to see the inner workings of his mind.

"Did you hit anyone?" he asked.

"Yes." Tosh grimaced. "An old man outside the hospital."

"He was on an emotional high when he woke." It wasn't really a question.

"Yes, and he had a religious conversion experience."

Ianto frowned. "That's a new one. Strict sort of religion?"

"Cromwell had nothing on him."

"Quite contradictory, then; the original purpose of the device was to stimulate mental orgasms, a sort of cheap jokester's toy. Yvonne Hartman had a lot of fun with it."

"So, like a tasp in _Ringworld_?"

"Not nearly as addictive, because the memory is supposed to fade from the brain. Any attachment would be strictly intellectual."

"The effects won't last, then?" Tosh asked, feeling relieved.

"This has been modified," Ianto replied, waving it at her. She had to force herself to stay still, and her leg jittered from the desire to get out of its way. "It sounds serious. The Korkekians are extinct now. Their homeworld vanished a couple thousand years ago, just disappeared. The light stopped reflecting off of it, and the planet was no longer there. Ten years later, their entire civilization collapsed overnight, planet after planet turned into wastelands with nothing left on them, no Korkekians, no buildings, no technology, no plants, nothing. No life, dead planets, one after another, seventy-five of them, all gone. To this day, no one has been able to figure out what happened."

"Were they attacked?" Monty asked.

"Not that anyone was aware of, and any assault on the Korkekians would have been difficult at best. They had some of the most powerful psychic technologies in the galaxy... but the droid earlier, it must have been using Korkekian technology as well! It was causing hallucinations, powerful images..."

"So what does that mean?"

Ianto stuck the tip of his tongue out between his lips as he concentrated. "I've always thought the circumstances of their fall were suspicious. Perhaps it was part of a plan." He looked straight into Tosh's eyes, and she received an unmistakable warning: _Keep an eye on Monty._ "Perhaps the Korkekians aren't as dead as we think."

"We were going to investigate the offices in Trenton," Tosh said.

"Good. You can't attack without having a base nearby, so the aliens must be located somewhere close, and what better hiding place than a position of power?"

Monty nodded and crossed the room to open the door. "Come on, then. If we drive fast, we can be there by late afternoon."

Tosh began to follow him out, but Ianto called them back for one last admonition. "Be careful," he said, and this time, the warning was for both of them.

**--**

Half an hour later, after House, Cuddy, and Harkness had combed the room inch-by-inch and failed to locate the fallen artifact, they were all back in House's office.

"This has to be a dream," Cameron said, examining her "new" hands.

"I doubt it," Chase grumbled. "If this was a dream, I'm pretty sure House wouldn't be here."

"Speak for yourself," House piped in. Cameron and Chase gave him disturbingly identical glares. "What? I'm in most of my dreams. Except that one where I'm Julia Roberts and I'm pregnant..."

"Shut up. You're making my head hurt," Cuddy snapped. Well, that made two of them, House thought.

"But if this is real--" Chase began.

"We'll see just how narcissistic you two really are."

"House!" yelled Chase, Cameron, and Cuddy at the same time.

"Nice harmony," said House, utterly unperturbed.

"This is ridiculous," Cuddy said.

"I just don't get you people!" Jack exclaimed. "What will it take to get you to believe aliens exist? I mean, what about the UFO crashing through Big Ben, or the Sycorax on Christmas Day two years ago?"

"Yes, we've heard this rant already," House said.

"Syco-what?" asked Wilson.

"Well, everything was always in Britain, wasn't it?" Chase said. "I always figured it was just the English having a weird sense of humor."

"Oh! The impudence!" House cried. "Show some respect for your home country!"

"Well, a third of the hospital did try to jump off the roof," Cuddy conceded.

"If I remember correctly, you were among them," House added unhelpfully.

"So how do we reverse this?" Cameron had apparently gotten through her denial and onto more important matters, House noted with a touch of admiration.

"I need to find the device, but it's gone!" Jack said.

"So... this could be permanent?" Cameron said.

"I'll find it," Jack assured her.

"What if you don't?"

"No one's going to believe we've swapped bodies," Chase moaned.

"Then you'd better work on your accent," House quipped. "Or Cuddy could just announce over the PA that it's Swap Accents With Your Lover Day."

"No," Cuddy said.

"Damn it, people already think I'm gay! What's going to happen when they see me mooning after House? This sucks!" Chase looked devastated. Cameron looked annoyed. House found the role reversal their body-swap had caused rather disorienting.

"Hey, you should just be thankful that I'm not on my period right now," Cameron muttered.

"Oh my god," Chase said, looking horrified, while House snickered. The door opened and Foreman walked briskly in.

"Where were you guys earlier? It took me forever to search the rest of the hospital, and now you're back in the office! What's going on?"

"Nothing," Chase-in-Cameron's-body said, with a Southern accent.

"G'day, mate! Blimey, what a great day to wrangle a kangaroo," Cameron-in-Chase's-body said.

"What?" Foreman said.

**--**

Ianto waited several minutes to make sure Tosh and Monty weren't coming back before he climbed out of bed. Immediately, his side began to ache. The world rocked beneath his feet, but he forced himself to focus, limping to the chair where Tosh had left his clothes. His blood-stained shirt was torn beyond hope of repair, but the coffee-stained one had dried, so he dropped the hospital gown and shrugged that on, along with a pair of pants. He was just buttoning his shirt when the door opened.

"Oh, uh, I was--" he began. Then he turned and saw who it was. "Oh no..."

Nurse Brenda cast her gaze about the room before allowing it to settle on him. The door shut quietly. "You should be in bed," she said huskily.

_A screwdriver would be very nice just about now,_ Ianto thought as he noticed her hair was mussed up and the top two buttons of her shirt had been torn off.

"Dr. von Lieberman said I'm fine," Ianto said. "Really, I have papers to prove I can walk around."

"Oh, you poor, poor boy," Brenda ran her fingers up the length of his right arm and down his chest. "So confused."

"Really, I'm not--"

"There's no Dr. von Lieberman at this hospital." Closing her fist around his collar, she spun him around. His legs chose that exact moment to give out, and he collapsed onto the bed. "There you go. Now all you have to do is lie there."

"What do you mean there's no-- _oh,_ that's not appropriate--"

"It looks like you need some gentle, medical attention there," Brenda whispered, climbing on top of him. "Oh my, you're a pretty one. Should shave the sideburns, though."

"Von Lieberman was right here, I was talking to him, he introduced himself!"

"Nonsense, you probably just heard the name somewhere else... I seem to recall House mentioning him some time long ago, but that's not important. Stop thinking about him and focus... _here._" She leaned forward so that there was no way to ignore her bosom.

"What? He was in House's _thoughts_? But that means-- _ooaaahh!!._"

Brenda unzipped his pants, not bothering with the belt. "You have wonderfully large hands. I wonder if it's true what they say about men with large hands..."

"That's quite enough," Ianto said quickly, and gathering all his strength, he pushed her away, sending her tumbling off the bed. She screamed and took an IV rack down with her.

Ianto clambered off the bed, zipping up his pants, and threw open the door.

"You're not getting away from me that easily!" Brenda screamed as she leapt over the bed and tackled him. Ianto threw her off him, and her head crashed against the edge of a countertop. She collapsed, unconscious.

Aware that the entire hospital was watching them, Ianto stood and tried his best to straighten his shirt. "Uh, it's something in the water. You might want to avoid the drinking fountains for a few hours while maintenance works it out."

An elderly lady standing close by jabbed her husband in the ribs. "See? I told you it had nothing to do with your silly blue pills." She leaned over and said loudly to Ianto: "Men, they can never do anything right. I said to Walter, 'Walter, how can something so little make you big?' but no, he wouldn't believe me."

As she walked away, Ianto scratched his head. "Why do women tell me these things? Am I not a man?"

The nurse who slapped Jack earlier appeared beside him. "Aww, you're too adorable!" she said, taking him by the arm and dragging him away.

"Where are we going?" he asked, bewildered.

"Don't worry." She patted his hand. "Your virtue is safe with me. I mean, I'm just not interested in you that way. The sideburns kind of put me off."

**--**

After all was explained and Foreman was reasonably convinced by the evidence if not the logic (though he was not quite sure he wasn't dreaming), House pulled him aside.

"Foreman," he said, "I need you to do me a favor."

"What?" asked Foreman skeptically.

"Cover my last clinic hour today, would you? Good man, good man." Without giving Foreman a chance to reply, House clapped him on the back, gave him a little push in the right direction, and scurried off. Foreman gaped after him for a minute, then rolled his eyes and strolled down to the clinic. 

The nurse at the desk was not surprised to see him and handed him a clipboard without comment. The first three patients went by fairly quickly, two being just allergies and one the flu. 

About thirty-five minutes later he got the chart for his fourth patient, and the nurse who handed it to him gave him a strange look and said, "Watch out for this one. He was pretty strange--didn't seem quite certain about his information. He's probably a drug seeker." Foreman curtly thanked her for the warning.

The patient was a middle-aged man, brown hair, brown eyes, average height, average weight... actually, every thing about him seemed exactly average. That in itself wasn't cause for alarm, of course. They got all sorts of patients in the clinic, and some of them were bound to be average. But the man's demeanor, the way he held himself and the way he spoke, those things seemed a bit off to Foreman, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. 

"Hello, I'm Doctor Foreman. What can I do for you?" he asked politely.

"Guh. Rah," the man said. Foreman blinked. The man made a bubbling noise. 

"Excuse me? Is it a throat problem?" The man bubbled some more. Foreman sighed and picked up a tongue depressor. "Well, open up and let me have a look, then."

The man opened up. He did more than just open his mouth, actually, though he certainly did do that. His entire body flickered for a moment, and then he was gone and there was a giant, red... _thing_ in his place, all teeth and leathery skin. Foreman reeled back, but he wasn't fast enough. The creature's gaping maw opened wide and swallowed him whole. 

After a few moments, it burped, shifted back into a human, and then walked jerkily out of the room, as though it didn't know quite what to do with two legs.

**--**

Chase knew something was wrong when House sent Foreman off and then scampered up to them, an expression of false cheerfulness on his face. "Okay, kiddos! How about we have some fun!"

Chase folded his arms over his chest, or rather, his breasts, or rather, Cameron's breasts... which would make them _her_ arms... wow, this made his head hurt. Or rather, her head... 

He tried his best to give House a Cameron-like glare in the midst of all this mental confusion. "I'm not kissing you."

"Oh, you know you want to," House retorted. "But that's not the point. _Where are my test results!_"

Chase gaped at him. "You still want us to do the tests?"

"Patient's not getting any better, is she?"

Cameron drew herself up, or himself, or... oh, whatever; he was going to have Cuddy cover his psychiatric bills anyway.

"It's true, Chase, we're not exactly handicapped in any way," she said. She shifted uncomfortably. "Though I really don't understand how you walk with--"

"Okay! That's enough!" Chase stood and strode out of the room. As he walked, he had to concede House was right; once the novelty of having breasts wore off, he'd really rather they were retractable.

**--**

"So, a new shipment of these just arrived yesterday," Tracy said, bouncing toward a stack of boxes. She giggled. "It was naughty, stealing some, but I thought, why not? The hospital doesn't pay me enough to deal with some of the patients here! Oh, not that it isn't worth it. I mean, I met _you_, didn't I?"

"A shipment of what?" Ianto asked.

Tracy pulled two spherical yellow objects out of her pocket. "Stress balls! Look, you can squeeze them!" She tightened her grip on them, one in each hand, to demonstrate this fascinating property.

"How exciting."

"Here, try it. I guarantee it'll make all your troubles go away!" She threw one at him.

He squished it once. "Very nice, very firm."

"Squeeze harder!" Tracy exclaimed.

He tossed it back to her. "Look, great as this is, there's something I need to do."

Tracy pouted. "What?"

Ianto thought for a moment. "There's a possibly semi-sentient alien artifact loose in this hospital which channels enough energy to blow up Jupiter, and if a race bent on taking over the universe recovers it before we get to it, life as we know it will end."

"That's what my father said when he divorced my mother!" Tracy burst into tears.

"What!"

Tracy lifted a box of stress balls and prepared to throw it at him. "I hate you!" He ducked, but she overcompensated for its weight and fell backwards so that the entire package landed on top of her. Ianto turned and ran.

"Ianto! Don't leave me!"

"I'll bring you a cup of coffee!" he told her.

"Aw, you're so sweet." Another box landed on her. "_Ow!_"

**--**

Cameron edged past Chase as they arrived at Gwen's room. Gwen was sleeping when they entered. Cameron shook her gently awake and showed her the stack of Ishihara test cards they'd brought. "We're going to show you a series of cards with a group of dots, which will all be one similar color except for the shape of a roman numeral, which will be in a different color. We'll need you to tell us what number you see," she explained.

"Yeah, all right," Gwen said groggily. "I remember those things from when I was a kid. There were also the little 3D pictures where you had to pick out which one popped up."

Cameron laughed. "None of those today, unfortunately."

"I'm surprised House is still making you two work," Gwen said sympathetically.

Cameron tensed. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know, the whole mind-swap thing, Dr. Cameron. Jack sent us all a text."

"You talk as though it happens every day." Cameron laughed nervously. Chase thought it sounded extremely strange coming from his own body, because it was a distinctly Cameron-like laugh.

Gwen shrugged. "Well, I don't know how much Jack told you, but it sort of _is_ an everyday thing."

"Right, well, the test." Chase took the cards from Cameron's hands. The test took only a few minutes, as Gwen could not read any of the numbers.

"They're all grey," she kept saying.

At the end of it, Cameron took a small light out of her pocket and shined it into Gwen's eyes. "All functions are normal," she reported.

"You look worried," Gwen said, her own voice echoing the sentiments.

"You have achromatopsia," Chase said, "total color blindness caused by brain damage. If you'd been able to distinguish certain colors but not others, the problem might have been your eyes and your retina rather than the brain, which would've given us a hint as to what is causing your illness. However, since this is simply a symptom of the stroke, we're back to where we started."

"Does that mean it's permanent?"

Cameron nodded sympathetically. "Yes."

Gwen smiled sadly. "Well, I guess it could be worse. At least I'm not paralyzed. What's next?"

"Well, we've seen your brain, now we need to take a look at your heart; your brain is clear of tumors, and your blood tests indicate normal levels of cholesterol, so the stroke was likely embolic, meaning caused by a clot sent from some other part of the body," Chase explained. "The heart's the best candidate, so we're going to do an echocardiogram to make sure there's no blockages or abnormal blood flow; it's non-invasive, which makes it an ideal first procedure. If that doesn't show anything, then we'll have to try a coronary angiography where we insert a catheter through blood vessels in the leg up to your heart. It's a very simple, pain-free, low-risk procedure."

They were preparing the ultrasound when a doctor Chase didn't recognize entered. Cameron looked confused, so she clearly didn't know him either. The man headed directly for Chase.

"Dr. Cameron, do you know Ianto Jones?"

"Uh, why, yes," Chase replied, then paused, catching himself. "I do, guv'nor," he continued in a heavy Southern drawl. "And who would y'all be?" Cameron glared at him.

"Dr. Charles," he said. Cameron shot the man a strange look. "We've admitted Mr. Jones as a patient, and he says you know the circumstances under which he was injured. I ask because we suspect he may be lying."

"Oh, uh, well..." Chase looked over at Cameron, giving her a panicked look.

Cameron looked around the room, then moved so that she was behind the doctor but still visible to Chase. _Patient_, she mouthed, miming a punch.

"He was attacked by a patient," Chase said.

Cameron scissored her index and middle fingers across each other in a walking motion.

"He was running," Chase added. Cameron quickly shook her head, mouthing, _Patient was escaping_. "Oh no, uh, the patient was running. Well, I mean, they were both running. Because the patient was escaping."

Dr. Charles looked at him strangely. Cameron pointed to her head, then did some weird movements with her hands that resembled miming a zombie. _What?_ Chase mouthed. The doctor turned around and Cameron quickly straightened and put her hands behind her back.

"Is something the matter?" Charles asked her.

"I'm Dr. Chase," she replied, in an utterly cringe-worthy imitation of an Australian accent. "I'm surprised you didn't hear. The patient got hold of a scalpel, apparently."

"Yes, well, first-hand accounts are for the best," Charles said, dismissing her and turning back to Chase. Chase groaned inwardly as he realized he wasn't going to accept anyone's word but his. Cameron quickly pointed at her head again, bobbing it side-to-side, then mouthed _Foreman_ and made a wavy motion across her chest.

"Foreman has big--" he caught himself, realizing that couldn't be what Cameron was trying to say. "Ah, uh, he, has big problems with, uh, patients... running around... when they're not supposed to, that is. Normally, it's great if they can run around, exercise and all that and _oh_," he exclaimed, realizing what Cameron meant. "The patient had Alzheimer's, yes, mentally ill, threat to himself, so no time to call security, no, had to get Ianto to help me."

He'd been so flustered he hadn't paid any attention to Charles' own expressions, but now, he realized the man had been making very strange faces at him the whole time. Chase looked closer; now that he thought about it, the man seemed strange, as though some miniscule details about him were wrong. He looked normal, but he made Chase's hair stand up on the back of his neck, and he was quite sure that Cameron's hair didn't normally stand up on its own.

"Hold on," Chase said at the same time as Charles. They both paused.

_Cameron looked confused when he said his name,_ Chase thought, _as though she was thinking about..._ Then he remembered. She'd received a letter from Dr. Sebastian Charles about his work with TB in Africa just a few days ago!

"You don't work here!" Chase said.

"You're not Dr. Cameron!" the man roared back.

"Get down!" a third voice yelled.

Cameron and Chase both ducked, and a gunshot rang out. Blood splattered everywhere as the man collapsed.

"What the hell!" Chase looked up and saw Ianto. "You shot him! You killed him!"

"He's an alien," Ianto said. 

"But he didn't go poof into smoke like the other one!" Cameron said.

Ianto checked his pulse, then turned him over and slapped him a few times. Nothing happened. He then grabbed the defibrillator and charged up it up.

"That's not what you do for people who've been shot!" Chase protested.

Ianto ignored him and brought the paddles down on the man's chest. An electrical current jolted through him, and the air around him fizzled like static on a television screen. When it faded, there remained a large, leathery... _thing_ that was fizzling and melting as though it'd been doused in acid. Its features were no longer recognizable, but it was definitely not human.

"I'm pretty sure that's not a Korkekian," Ianto muttered.

The puddle of brownish-red leather-goo _glurped_ and then exploded in a puff of smoke. When the air cleared, there was nothing left. "Poof," Chase said, earning another glare from Cameron.

"That's unfortunate," Ianto said. Then he stood and patted them both on the shoulder. "Well, might as well get on with those tests, then. Hi Gwen, how are you feeling?"

Gwen was wide-eyed. "Uh, fine. You're going to have to explain this when you come back."

"Quite. I need a cup of coffee, though." And with that, Ianto left.

**--**

Jack had slipped out about a minute ago in a way that he probably thought was discreet. House noted the direction he'd gone and now that Chase and Cameron were gone--Cuddy and Wilson had long since left, probably to find an ice pack and some coffee--he went off to try some reconnaissance work. 

He had a shrewd idea of where Jack had gotten to; it wasn't difficult to deduce that Jack's first priority would be to locate the curious object, and House didn't want that. After all, he'd found it, which to his mind made it his (House was a huge supporter of "finders, keepers", but only when it benefitted him). 

Sure enough, Jack hadn't gone far. He was just down the first hallway on the right and was doing something with a device that looked like a small metal detector. House made sure to stay out of sight and watched, interested. Jack was waving his little device by each door along the hall, and each time finishing with an annoyed expression and occasionally a disgruntled noise before moving on to the next door. 

Five doors later, Jack found a door that was apparently of interest. He waved the device over it two more times, then gently knocked. House was close enough to hear that there was no answer. Jack carefully opened the door and peeked in, then opened it the rest of the way and tip-toed through. 

House meandered up and watched through the open door, careful to stay out of sight. It was difficult to suppress a snort when he saw the old lady asleep in the bed and Jack's attempts at being quiet so as not to awaken her. 

Jack quickly ran his detector over most of the room, then paused and turned; he hadn't found what he'd been looking for. House ducked out of sight behind a convenient meal cart. He peeked between the trays.

Jack was sneaking out of the room, keeping his eyes locked on the old lady in the bed. This, it turned out, was a bad idea, since it meant he wasn't watching his feet. He tripped over a wire on the floor, caught himself on a precarious shelf, and caused several nice vases to crash to the floor, making a loud noise. 

He recovered quickly, but not quickly enough. 

"WHO IS HERE? WHAT DO YOU WANT?" shouted the old woman, not too pleased at having been abruptly woken. Jack flailed backwards, turned, dodged a thrown water bottle, sprinted out of the room, and slammed the door behind him.

"Sorry!" Jack yelled through the closed door. Something crashed on the other side. House tried to stifle his snickers, but with the bustle in the hospital it wasn't as though Jack was going to hear him anyway. 

Jack didn't bother to linger. He walked briskly down the rest of the hall, his eyes on his little detector. House followed. It wasn't hard; Jack was occupied and there were plenty of people around to mask his presence. Unfortunately for Jack, the amount of people meant that it wasn't a great idea for him not to be watching where he was going. 

The unsuspecting captain slammed right into a doctor, who had also been preoccupied and not paying attention. The two staggered backward. The doctor (whom House recognized as one of the board members, though he couldn't remember which department) ended up on his ass, while Jack caught himself on some poor visitor. Neither of them went down, but Jack got a long-winded lecture. House grinned, appreciating the free entertainment.

Flustered, Jack maneuvered himself away and disappeared into the stairwell. House frowned and said, "Bastard." He looked into the stairwell, determined that Jack was headed up, and then went to the closest elevator. 

He got off on the third floor, in the middle of the psych ward. It was far from his favorite part of the building, and so he was a little miffed at Jack for leading him there. And speaking of, Jack was nowhere in sight. 

After examining the stairwell, House heard a loud squawking noise from a room across the hall. He ducked into the stairwell just in time as Jack came stumbling through the doors, followed inexplicably by a largish chicken. Someone inside was yelling and Jack's hair and clothing were in disarray. There was a feather sticking resolutely in his hair. 

"This is ridiculous," House murmured to himself, staring with wide eyes as Jack dusted himself off and turned indignantly on his heel. House cautiously left the stairwell, holding the door open so the chicken could get through, and followed. 

He hadn't taken more than a couple steps when he heard a voice call out, "House!" He froze.

"Wilson," House hissed under his breath. Wilson walked briskly up to him.

"What are you doing up here?" he asked. House chanced a glance at Jack, who had indeed noticed them and was walking over.

"What are _you_ doing here?" House countered, more than a little vexed. Wilson made to respond, but Jack beat him to it.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked, glaring at House. House rolled his eyes.

"I was following you. Duh," House said.

"Why?" asked Jack and Wilson at the same time.

"Why do you _think_? Don't be obtuse."

"Well, I'd appreciate it if--" Jack was cut off by his cell phone ringing. He glanced down at it. "Ianto? What does he want?"

"How should I know?" House asked. Wilson gave him a light slap on the shoulder.

"Be nice."

**--**

Neither of the tests revealed any abnormalities, which left Chase baffled. He'd been sure it'd be either the eyes or the heart, as he still wasn't convinced that this would be a big mystery case. However, it seemed Cameron's position was becoming more and more valid, which didn't bode well for Gwen.

"What's next, then?" Gwen asked. "I mean, if everything's fine, what else could cause a stroke?"

"I don't know," Chase said. "What if it's a tumor?"

"I thought that's what you've been searching for."

"No, I mean, uh, well, we really shouldn't discuss this around you. A lot of the ideas we throw out are just that: ideas, nothing to be worried about, but patients--"

"It concerns me, doesn't it? You can discuss it right here."

Chase stood up. "I'm sorry, but really--"

"No! You're not going anywhere! I want to know if there's something wrong with me!"

"I--" Chase began, but Cameron cut him off with a hand on his arm. They exchanged a quick look, then Chase nodded and sat back down, though he knew that'd be a bad move if his suspicions were right. Well, it was in the name of science... "Gwen, you're right, we'll stay right here. Of course it concerns you, and we don't want to upset you."

In the blink of an eye, Gwen's hand went from the side of the bed to Chase's throat. "You're lying to me!"

"_Guhyeerghk!_" Chase managed.

Gwen pulled him closer so that their faces were almost pressed together. "You're conspiring against me, all of you, and-- oh no you don't!" Still with only one hand, Gwen threw Chase aside, grabbing Cameron's wrist with her other hand just as Cameron began to bring a tranquilizer down onto her thigh. Cameron cried out and dropped the needle.

Gwen leapt out of the bed as Chase scrambled for the shot. She caught him before he could reach it and threw him against the wall. "Back away from the needle!" she growled as Cameron began to kneel down. "Or I'll kill him!"

_Well, here goes nothing,_ Chase thought. Then he slammed his head against Gwen's. She cried out and collapsed to the ground. He grabbed the tranquilizer and injected it into her anyway, just in case, and then they dragged her back into the bed.

"You smeared my makeup!" Cameron told him afterward.

"What?"

She sighed. "It always happens to me; the patients always beat up on me."

"What are you talking about? She was choking _me_."

"Yeah, but it's my body," she pointed out. Chase glared.

Suddenly, they heard a yelp outside the room, and they were forced to leave the mystery of Gwen's sudden rage attack for a later time. Outside, they found Ianto dialing on his phone.

**--**

"Jack?" Ianto's voice came over the headset.

"Yes?" Jack replied, eyeing House and Wilson and wondering whether to let them in on the conversation or not.

"You'd better get over here."

Jack ran off without waiting for the two doctors; he'd rather not let House feel he had the right to interfere in Torchwood affairs. When he arrived, he found Ianto standing in front of a manhole just outside of Gwen's room. Cameron and Chase were beside him, and just as he was despairing at the constant presence of House's minions, he saw Cuddy striding over as well, her face grim.

"Why's there a manhole on the second floor of the hospital?" Cameron asked.

Cuddy didn't waste her breath on such a ridiculous question and instead stalked over to the PA system and screamed, "_HOUSE!_" Her voice echoed across the hospital.

House turned the corner and said in a theatrical whisper, "Really, Cuddy, you're _scaring the patients._ Think about their psychological welfare!"

"Why's there a manhole in the middle of the second floor of my hospital?"

Ianto poked the lid, which promptly spun around as though on greased hinges. "As strange as this may sound, Dr. Cuddy, I don't think Dr. House had anything to do with this."

"Yeah, why would I need a manhole when I have Wilson?"

"It just materialized right in front of me while I was walking," Ianto said, as though this would make everything clear.

Jack knelt down and started scanning it with his wristband.

"I nearly spilled my coffee," Ianto added.

"How'd you not fall in?" Cameron asked.

"Only idiots don't watch where they put their feet, Dr. Cameron."

"Well?" Wilson asked, clearly giving up all his preconceived notions of reality. "What do you think?"

Jack frowned. "It's probably quantum."

House grabbed Cuddy's clipboard and dropped it down the manhole.

"House! That was your case report!"

"Good thing I have it all in my head, then."

A second later, they heard a dull thump and then: "Ow!"

"That's curious," Jack said.

House motioned for Ianto's mug, and Jack was surprised when he handed it over without protest. House poured the contents down the manhole. This action was followed by a loud scream and some steaming.

"_IANTO! YOU BASTARD!_"

"Oh, well that does confirm my suspicions, sir." Ianto said.

"About what?" Jack peered down the hole.

"Well, Owen's locked in the trunk of the rental car, sir, under very curious circumstances."

"When'd you find this out?"

"Oh, this morning, about eight hours ago."

"Why didn't you mention it?"

"Yeah! Why didn't you get help?!" Owen's voiced echoed up to them.

Jack clearly couldn't resist any longer. He grabbed Cuddy's pen and dropped it. House looked on with poorly-concealed approval.

"JACK!"

"How'd he know it was me?" Jack scratched his head.

"I'm afraid that between the impressment of my services in your search for the alien artifact and the attack by the droid, sir, I never had the time to tell you, though I did try," Ianto said.

House took a seat at the edge of the manhole and lifted his cane.

"House, what are you doing?" Cameron demanded.

"Scientific experiment, Cameron. It's important to know how far down this goes."

Cameron reached forward to stop him but House plunged the cane down.

"Ow!" came a second voice.

Everyone froze. Even one of the passing nurses, normally oblivious to just about everything not medical, stopped and stared for three seconds before moving on. House looked thoughtful. "I thought we were missing someone."

"Foreman?" Cameron called down.

"Duh!"

House tried to pull out his cane, but it was stuck. He shrugged and dropped it. "Cuddy, I need a new cane."

"Ow, it's in my--" Owen paused. "Oh never mind, just get us out!"

"Foreman, what happened?" House barked.

"Well, it's all sort of confusing, but I was treating this clinic patient, and suddenly, he sprouted fangs and ate me."

Everyone took a step away from the manhole.

"This patient," House said, "was he round and dark grey with 'Property of the City of Princeton' printed on him?"

"What? No! I just, well, I was pulled toward an orifice of some sort, and there was teeth, and then suddenly I was here next to Owen."

"So it's like some special corner of hell?" Ianto mused. "If you're bad, you get stuck with Owen for all eternity."

Jack giggled. Cameron stared.

A scream rang out down the hall, accompanied by dozens of shouts of, "Monster! MONSTER!" and one scream of, "My hair! It ate my wig!"

"Oh god." Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Sorry, boys, but looks like we have an emergency." House jumped up and clung to Cuddy's shoulders. "Carry me?"

Jack pulled out his miniature screwdriver and set off running. "We'll be right back! Just stay put!"

"Is that supposed to be some sick joke, Harkness?" Owen yelled.

The others followed Jack, Cuddy begrudgingly allowing House to lean on her. Cameron spared the manhole one backward glance before rushing into a nearby room, removing a wicked-looking scalpel from a drawer, and rejoining the group.

"Harkness? House?"

There was no reply.

"Damn it." Foreman said.

A minute later, an unfortunate passer-by, who was really a very nice old man who didn't deserve to have his IV drip taken from him, walked by the manhole, which then promptly disappeared, leaving the old man dazed and confused and sitting on the ground.

**--**

The source of the panic was in the hall outside of House's office. Seven giant slug-like creatures were oozing slime all over the floor and blasting people with lasers emitting from their feelers. One did, indeed, have a wig hanging off its extended radula.

"Can you shoot them?" Cameron asked.

"No guns!" Jack replied, raising his little yellow screwdriver.

"I thought you'd gone back to your car," Cameron told Ianto. "I mean, you got more bullets!"

"Actually, turns out there was one left," Ianto said, shrugging. "But I used it on von Lieberman."

"Von Lieberman?" House turned, surveying Ianto with new respect. "You shot von Lieberman?"

"It was an alien pretending to be von Lieberman," Cameron said. "It also got the idea of being Sebastian Charles out of my head."

"You shot von Lieberman _and_ that arrogant ass of an activist?" House grabbed Ianto's hand and shook it. Cameron slapped her forehead.

Jack yelped as one of the slugs fired a laser at him. At the last moment, he moved his screwdriver into its line of fire and the beam reflected off its tip to blast a hole in the ceiling. "Oh, this could be a little more sonic," Jack said, bouncing the screwdriver from hand to hand as it smoked from the heat it'd acquired. Then he paused. "Did I just say that? Someone tell me I didn't just say that."

"Spread out!" Cuddy yelled. "We're too easy a target."

Cuddy and House dodged behind a nearby stretcher while Jack led Chase the other way toward the entrance of House's office. Cameron let out a battle yell and attacked the closest slug with her scalpel. The slug turned and fired at her. She ducked, then slid on the slime and fell next to its back end. She brought the scalpel down on the skin, but it went right through, and a little puff of smoke appeared where she'd made contact.

"They're hallucinations!" Ianto called out. "Hold on!" He ran back toward Gwen's room.

"That isn't helpful," Cameron remarked. Then the slug turned to face her, and she levitated into the air. "_Help!_"

"She's always the one who gets in trouble," Cuddy said, looking pointedly at House.

"What?" House said. "You think she isn't good enough for me? I mean, I'll admit her ass isn't as big as yours, but when you spurn all my advances, I have to settle for second best."

"_House!_" Cameron screamed disapprovingly.

"Oh, why don't you focus on your own problems?"

Cameron screamed again as she began floating toward the slug's yawning mouth. Jack tried to grab Chase's arm as he leapt toward her, but Chase shook him off and slammed into the slug.

"Sure! Save your lover!" House shouted from behind the stretcher.

"I'm not sleeping with her!" Chase cried, grabbing Cameron's leg as he slipped on the slime. "But that's _my_ body that's about to be eaten!" He tugged on her leg harder, but it didn't reduce her altitude any. The slug began to extend its radula.

Cuddy sighed and left the safety of the stretcher. "Put her down!" she roared. The creature paused, glancing at her in amusement. Cuddy slapped it, sending blobs of goo onto the wall. She cringed at the thought of what it'd cost to get those stains removed, but at least she had the alien's full attention now. "Put her down," she repeated the demand.

At that moment, the entire creature flickered and turned into a snowy blob of static. The slime vanished from the floor and the slugs disappeared. In their place were seven hunched, leathery creatures. Though they were bipedal, their feet were lost amidst the folds and folds of flesh that rolled from their body across the floor, spreading about until they resembled highly-mobile versions of Jabba the Hutt. They each had four arms, though two were more tentacles than arms, with one eye embedded in the "palm" of each tentacle. The bottom two arms more closely resembled humanoid arms, with eyeless hands that had seven tube-like fingers.

The creatures had one head each, but they were shaped like giant urns, with foot-wide openings at the tops of their heads that were lined by fangs. A complex system of muscles and bones allowed the heads to rotate and twist about in all directions, and the neck could lengthen or contract to give their jaws a reach of anywhere from zero to four feet. If they'd been standing upright, they would've been at least twelve feet tall, but it appeared that their skeletal structures could dislocate portions of themselves to let the creatures fit into lesser spaces without significant discomfort. As evidence of this, the aliens' bodies rippled like water, and portions of them would jut out or shrink back into the torso as though they were separate beings rather than part of a greater whole.

Now that the illusion was gone, they could see Cameron was being held in the air by the creature's two functioning arms, and its mouth was outstretched to eat her. Confronted with this image, which she found much more horrifying than a slug, Cameron screamed again. Jack ran up to it and stabbed it in the eye with the screwdriver. It let out a chilling roar and shuddered, like a dog shaking water off its coat, and Cameron, Chase, Cuddy, and Jack were thrown down the hallway like fallen raindrops.

Jack looked up see Ianto typing away on his laptop.

"You could've done that sooner, sir," Ianto said reprovingly.

"Well, I didn't know what effect my stabbing the alien would have had on everyone else, and I refuse to kiss all of them; House and Cuddy would slap me."

"I'm using the wireless signal to jam their devices' psi-waves, sir," Ianto said, indicating little black boxes attached to the aliens, "but the algorithm is designed to change constantly, and the program's having a hard time keeping up."

"Good job, but that's hardly a long-term solution," Jack said.

"What's the plan, then, sir?"

"Cuddy!" Jack called. "Where can we get some high-power battery packs?"

"Storage room, but I'll need help!"

Cameron stood shakily. "I'll help."

As Ianto continued typing, Jack started unscrewing the panels on the laptop. With Chase, the three of them retreated into House's office, where Chase began throwing chairs at the aliens to keep them at bay. Jack started talking to keep his focus off the advancing creatures.

"It's curious, isn't it," he said to Ianto. "They're not wearing spacesuits."

Ianto's voice was strained as he shifted part of his attention from the program to Jack. "I wish Tosh were here; she's better at this," he said. "The lack of spacesuits, sir, would imply they know what to expect from this planet's ecology, and that disturbing as they look, their physiology is not significantly different from Earth-life."

"Indeed," Jack said. "It means they've been here a while. But look, they have a pack around their necks, if you can call those things necks. They look like they should be multi-purpose, so in addition to generating hallucinations, they might also be a biofeedback mechanism hooked directly to their internal organ system."

"So if we can overload the devices, they'll cease functioning and the aliens--"

"We'll stop their hearts, or whatever they use to keep alive."

Cuddy and Cameron returned with massive battery packs in their arms. The aliens had blocked the doorway, though, and they were pondering what to do when House shoved the stretcher at the glass windows, shattering them. Cuddy gave him a look that contained the precise price figure of the cost of replacing those windows, but House ignored her.

Once they arrived, Jack began bypassing the laptop's power through the packs. Once he was done, he told Ianto what he needed.

"If I stop now, the hallucinations will resume," Ianto protested.

"Just do it!"

Ianto began typing even more frantically.

"What's he doing?" Chase asked, dodging a swipe that smashed the chair in his hands to pieces.

"I've modified the wireless output to generate a pulse powered by the battery packs to disable the bio-systems hooked into the aliens' anatomies," Jack said.

The laptop began whining, and then all of a sudden, there was a loud discharge, like the sound of a thousand capacitors unleashing their power at once. Ianto dropped the laptop as it burst into flames from the power surging through its circuits. The aliens' electronic devices sparked and smoked as well, and the creatures collapsed, moaning.

Just as they seemed dead, though, a wave of nothingness burst forth from one of them and Chase yelled, "Everything's black! What's happened?"

Jack grabbed Ianto and kissed him. Together, they turned and saw one of the aliens was still alive and pushing itself back upright. Its device was glowing but not destroyed. It hit several buttons on it.

"It has a teleporter!" Jack said, surprised. He and Ianto ran for the creature and jumped on it. Ianto jarred its hand just enough so that its finger went wide and hit the wrong button. The three of them vanished from the hospital.

They rematerialized in a rather elegant-looking room with massive windows overlooking a street several stories below. The creature bellowed and threw them off of itself, but then it stumbled.

"Who are you?" Jack demanded. "Where are you from? What do you want?"

It groaned, then leered at him, its mouth writhing in a chewing motion and its tentacles maneuvering its eyes as far apart from each other as possible. "Little fools, what have you done?" Its tentacles flipped around and around.

"That was the home recall button, wasn't it?" Jack said. "You were trying to escape, but now you've led us to your headquarters."

The creature gasped. "You idiots! Fools of Torchwood."

"He's dying," Ianto said.

"And I will take you with me!" It collapsed onto the floor, its entire body expanding and contracting like a huge, heaving whale. Jack noticed the device on its body was flashing mauve now.

"The device is also a bomb! It's programmed to detonate if it dies! Run!"

They threw open the door and ran for the staircase. Down and down they went.

"There could be other people here! We need to warn them!"

"If it's in its home base, there shouldn't be civilians around!" Jack said. "Besides, no time!"

The concussion from the explosion blasted them through the front doors and into the streets. Above, the top few stories of the building vanished in the inferno as a rising column of fire expanded over the road. Debris littered down around them, and they ducked behind a nearby mailbox, covering their heads, to protect themselves. 

"Where do you think we are?" Jack asked. "It can't have been far."

Ianto looked around. "You might be surprised." Jack followed his gaze until he saw a white obelisk on the horizon jutting into the sky.

"Oh," he said. There were only so many places one could spot the Washington Monument. "Hmm, First Street, the sign says."

Ianto glanced at it, then turned to the burning building. "310 First Street?" he said incredulously. "Oh no."

"What?"

"We've blown up the Republican National Committee headquarters," Ianto said.

"Why the hell do you know the address of the RNC headquarters?"

"It's my job, sir."

They watched the building burn for a few more moments, and then the sound of sirens became audible. "We'd better get out of here," Ianto said. Jack nodded, and they set off down the street. As they were leaving, however, a burning piece of paper landed before them. Ianto stamped the flames out and picked it up. Most of it was no longer readable, but it appeared to be a memo. Scanning it, Jack could see nothing of note, but then Ianto pointed at a fragment of a sentence.

"'They've agreed to share the secrets of the BRAIN...'" he read. Then he turned pale. "BRAIN?"

"You've heard of it?"

"It can't be," Ianto said. "It has to be something else."

"What is it?" Jack asked, perhaps a little too insistently.

"Torchwood One was looking into it a while back, but it was more an idle pursuit for employees to consider in their spare time, a fun thought experiment rather than anything practical. BRAIN is an acronym: Beta-Radiating Abstractive Innovatory Neurology; it's the idea of mind over matter, that humans can control or at least affect the world around them with their brains. You've heard of the different types of brainwaves: alpha, beta, theta, and delta, and the idea that the unconscious or subconscious can receive and send signals to the world around, but you have to be in a meditative or deep-sleep state to achieve this."

"Uh, what?"

"Let me pose you a question. What is luck?"

"A set of coincidences that happen in your favor."

"So why are some people luckier than other? For example, every once in a while we hear about someone who has won millions of dollars in the lottery _twice_, even though statistically it's next to impossible to win just once. Do the laws of probability twist in favor of them?"

"No, probability indicates that some people might just happen to have more favorable outcomes than others, because by chance, it has to happen to someone."

"But why them in particular? And why does chance even work like that? Think of entropy; if you have a partitioned box with gas molecules on one side and a vacuum on the other, and you remove the partition, the molecules will diffuse and fill the box. However, by all known laws, chance should allow the molecules to run exactly backwards and return to a state where half the box is dense with gas and the other half is a vacuum, even without the partition present, but it never does. Diffusion occurs far more often, the universe runs toward chaos, and the opposite, though equally likely, never occurs."

"But luck isn't like that, because it happens."

"But it doesn't happen for _everyone_. Has the Doctor ever talked about this? Torchwood didn't have that many alien contacts, but from what I've read from certain documents that have fallen to Earth, I have suspicions."

"The Doctor..." Jack said slowly, wracking his memory for mentions of this topic. "The Doctor did once say humans were the damn-luckiest species alive, but I think he was sort of joking at the time. But he was sort of serious too."

"What if humans are lucky because they have a physiology, a brain structure, that enables their minds to interact with the outside world more so than other species? And lucky humans are more able to tap into that ability than others?"

"That's absurd."

"That's the whole basis of BRAIN. It's the idea that, assuming humans have this ability, you can train yourself to elevate this power to the level of beta brainwaves, to conscious thought, and with your mind, create whatever you can imagine, alter the fabric of the universe to whatever you desire."

"But there's no way it can be true!"

"It is highly unlikely," Ianto agreed. "Torchwood theoreticians established a number of tests in their free time to try to discover this ability and never found anything. That's why this BRAIN reference _has_ to be about something else..."

"But you don't think it is."

"No, I don't. But BRAIN is a well-known theory in various intellectual circles, so it isn't impossible that the political parties here would be aware of it, and if the aliens wanted their aid, what better offer in exchange for their help than the promise to let them mold the world as they wish, to flatter them by implying they are the most powerful and blessed species in the universe?"

"The luckiest species alive. Now there's a thought." Jack grinned. Then he turned serious again. "Why do you suppose it tried to teleport out of the hospital? It had no qualms about killing us... unless it thinks the artifact is still in the hospital!"

"But it isn't," Ianto said. "I've scanned House's office for radiation, and there are no new readings. The object teleported out, but the aliens are still after House and the rest of us, so they must not know it activated, and therefore they think we still have it."

"So it knew it was going to die, the others bombs had been disabled by our blast but its was still active, so it tried to flee, but then we messed up its attempt to save the artifact, and we blew up its headquarters instead..."

"We have to warn Tosh!" Ianto said. "If the aliens are in league with the political parties, I've sent Tosh into the lion's den!"

"You mean the artifact she has from the governor's office?" Jack asked. "She told me about it when we went to intercept House."

"Yes, and I sent her after the governor! I didn't know the aliens would be so dangerous, and if it knew we were from Torchwood, its comrades will recognize her on sight as well!"

They both reached for their phones, but then they realized they were destroyed by the laptop's signal.

"Damn it," Jack said. "Come on, maybe we can rent another car."

They began running down the street.

"Jack, did you recognize the alien's species?" Ianto asked.

"No, why?"

"Because I told Tosh I thought they were Korkekians."

"They're extinct!"

"They may have faked their extinction."

"Yes, well?"

"There's pictures of Korkekians in Torchwood One. They're definitely not the aliens."

Jack stopped dead in his tracks. "But they have Korkekian technology, the psi-devices are _definitely_ Korkekian in origin... which means only one thing."

"They destroyed the Korkekians."

"Seventy-five planets in one night," Jack whispered. "'What powerful but unrecorded race once dwelt in that annihilated place.'"

Ianto smiled grimly. "'The awful shadow of some unseen Power.' Let's get going."

They jogged off again, but the rising smoke from the burning building threw a shadow onto them that they couldn't outrun.


	8. Chapter 5: Fire and Brimstone

**Chapter 5**

**Fire and Brimstone**

The trunk was extremely uncomfortable and also somewhat smelly, though Foreman preferred not to think about that part. Additionally, the padding was wet, and he hoped it was just the coffee House had poured on them and not something questionable.

Harper shifted a little and rolled onto his hand.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, it's a little cramped."

Foreman glared at the sole of the other man's shoe. Harper knew something about what was happening in the hospital; Foreman had noticed the patient's co-workers acting strangely, but he'd dismissed them as a group of eccentrics. Now he suspected more was going on than they admitted. Right now, though, his primary objective was just to get out of there.

"This sucks," Harper said.

"You think?"

More silence. Really, he'd never thought it could be awkward being trapped in the trunk of a car with someone else. He'd always imagined there'd be more screaming. 

"Want to fuck?" Harper asked.

"_What?_"

"Well, nothing else to do."

"You're insane."

"Christ, six years of medical school, you never fucked a psycho?"

"That's horrible!"

"Well?"

"No!"

"You sure?"

"Yes!"

"Just a thought."

**--**

The lobby area of the Governor's office building was almost empty. There weren't nearly as many people bustling around as Tosh had expected. Monty nodded at the receptionist as they passed, and then led her to an elevator, which he took to the second floor. As they were stepping out, Tosh's cell phone rang. She checked it and frowned when it wasn't a number she knew. 

"Sorry," she said to Monty, answering it. "Hello?"

"Hi, Tosh, this is Ianto." He sounded a little out of breath and was speaking very quickly. "I'm calling from a pay phone at Union Station, look--"

"What?" she interrupted, flabbergasted. "Pay phone? _Union Station_? What the hell are you doing there?" 

"Yes, sorry, cell phone got blown up, no time to explain, but look, I'm just calling to warn you. That guy you're with, watch out for him."

"Who, Monty? Why?" 

"Er, well..." Ianto sounded uncomfortable. "It's a long story, but Jack and I have very good reason to think the aliens have heavily infiltrated the American government. You be careful up there. I'd better go make sure Jack isn't making a fool of himself. See you soon, Tosh, I hope." And with that, he hung up. Tosh gaped at her phone for a moment. 

"Tosh? Everything okay?" Monty said from behind her. She whirled around, startled.

"Oh, yes, everything's fine. No worries! Anyway, let's get on with it. Lead the way!" She laughed nervously. Monty gave her a strange look, but clearly decided not to press.

"Well," he said, "the Governor shouldn't actually be in today. We can search his office if you like. I'm his aide, so we'll be able to get in without any trouble." She nodded.

"Lead the way."

The office was just down the hall. It was large enough to be a comfortable bedroom, and pretty posh to boot. There was a plush couch in one corner, and a dark wood desk in the middle with a nice-looking chair behind it. There were two slightly less fancy chairs in front of it, and a couple floor lamps, filing cabinets, bookcases, and other basic office furniture. Tosh couldn't see anything immediately suspicious, but that of course didn't mean anything.

"So, uh, what exactly are we looking for?" Monty asked, shutting the door behind him and carefully locking it. Ianto's warnings flashed through her head, but she forced her anxieties to the back of her mind. She could deal with that later. 

"Anything that looks out of place. Anything that might be alien," she said. She walked over to the desk, as it seemed the best place to start, and watched Monty out of the corner of her eye as he paused for a moment and then headed towards one of the filing cabinets.

She searched the drawers and found nothing out of the ordinary. The contents were mostly just pencils and paper and pens and at the bottom on the last drawer, an old issue of Playboy magazine. She sniggered a little. The top of the desk was teetering somewhere between neat and messy, with a couple stacks of paper and an unusual amount of metal staplers, all in different colors. Disappointed, she gave up on the desk. 

"Find anything?" she asked Monty. He shrugged his shoulders at her, still looking through filing cabinets.

"Just the normal boring papers and such. I helped file most of these, actually." Tosh wasn't sure if she was discouraged or relieved by this. On the one hand, if they got through the whole office without finding anything, it might mean that Ianto and Jack were wrong and Monty really was just a nice person. On the other hand, it would mean that they weren't any closer to gaining clues about the alien device. 

As Tosh walked around the desk to go search a bookcase, she accidentally kicked her purse, which she'd left sitting on the floor. It toppled, spilling several things out onto the floor. Sighing in frustration, she bent to pick them up. The last thing was the alien device Monty had found. She picked it up without first remembering to check herself, then cursed as it flared and went off, sending a bolt in a random direction. 

Monty shouted and ducked, and the bolt hit a floor lamp several feet to his right. For several moments, neither of them moved an inch. When it seemed like nothing was going to happen, Tosh quickly shoved the device back into her purse and stood. 

"Right," she said. "Sorry about--" She was cut off by the lamp, which suddenly decided to attack her. She let out a shocked cry and staggered back, tripping over her heels and landing on her bottom. That was probably all that saved her, because the lamp flew over her head and crashed into the opposite wall. She screamed. Monty shouted a warning at her and threw himself at the lamp, which had recovered instantly and was aiming another lunge at her. 

Monty tackled the lamp to the ground, but he couldn't hold it there. It seemed alive, twisting and writhing as though it wasn't made of metal but instead something organic. The casing around the light bulb slammed into Monty's forehead and Monty let go, pressing his palms to the point of impact and grit his teeth, trying to recover. 

Tosh stood, faltering a little as she tried to regain her balance. The lamp lunged at her again and she swung her purse at it. It was knocked a little to the side, and she used the short amount of time she'd gained to duck behind a filing cabinet. The lamp either didn't notice or didn't care, because it came plowing right through a moment later. The whole cabinet tipped with a resounding crash and Tosh scrambled back some more. 

On the other side of the room, Monty had recovered and was throwing random books at the lamp. It paused, seemingly unsure of which person to attack, then threw itself at Monty again. 

Tosh recuperated quickly and yelled, "The door! We need to get out of here!"

"I'm a little busy here!" Monty yelled back, grappling with the lamp. The mess of staplers on the desk caught Tosh's eye and she hesitated only a moment before picking one up. It was metal and heavy and would probably do a fair amount of damage if thrown, even to a psychotic, alien-enhanced floor lamp. The only problem was that her aim wasn't good enough to ensure she wouldn't hit Monty. She stood there with a stapler in each hand, looking desperately for an opening as Monty wrestled with the lamp. They took out a small table and one of the chairs, and fell to the floor, rolling across. 

"Monty! Get away from it! I'm going to throw this!" 

"How do you propose I do that?" he managed. The lamp "kicked" his shin with its base and he grunted and kicked it back. He was grabbing it around the pole with both hands, trying to keep it as far away from his body as possible.

"I don't know! Just do it!" With a great effort, Monty wrenched his lower body away from the squirming lamp and pushed off hard from the closest wall, letting his hands go at the same time and rolling across the floor. Tosh threw both staplers at the lamp as soon as Monty was out of reach. One of them hit dead-on and crushed the light bulb casing at the top. The other missed completely. Tosh picked up two more and hurled them as well, one after another.

"The door!" she shouted at Monty, who quickly sprang to his feet and ran over. He deftly unlocked it and opened it. 

"Come on! Let's go!" The lamp had taken considerable damage from the staplers, but that didn't seem to slow it down at all. It made another lunge for Tosh, who screamed and ducked out of the way. She grabbed her purse from where she'd dropped it in place of the staplers and, hurling the last at the lamp, which was coming for her, dashed towards the open door. The stapler hit the lamp head on and it bought her just barely enough time to make it through. 

Monty ducked through the doorway as well, then slammed it behind him not a moment too soon. They heard a loud THUMP on the other side as the lamp ran straight into the closed door without bothering to stop. Monty and Tosh held the door shut, gasping for breath. Monty fished around in his pocket desperately for the key to lock the door from the outside. At last he found it and shoved it into the hole. Once the door was locked, Tosh dragged a heavy and expensive-looking bench in front of it as well. 

They both let go of the door and stood back apprehensively for a few seconds. The Tosh let out an explosive breath and both their shoulders sagged.

"Whew!" Tosh said. "That was really, really weird!"

"You're telling me," Monty replied. "Er, what now?"

"Well, I guess we'd better keep looking... Just not in there, of course." She eyed the door.

"Don't you think we ought to put a sign on it or something? To keep people from going in?"

"What, you don't think the great big bench in front of it is enough of a clue?"

"Well, you know how it is around here. Some people are really pretty stupid."

"Ah well, it couldn't hurt." Monty fished a pen and a piece of notebook paper out of his pockets and wrote a short "Keep out, sorry about the mess" note. Tosh located some tape in a nearby office, and they taped it to the door. "Well, guess we'd better get moving. This place is a lot bigger than I thought it would be."

**--**

Ianto hung up the phone and rejoined Jack at the ticket counter where he was buying one train ticket to Princeton.

"The station's only two miles from the university," Ianto heard the clerk saying as he approached. "It's no distance at all, I assure you."

"Thank you," Jack replied, "pleasure to meet you Ms., ah... Ms. Thompson."

"Oh," the woman cooed. "You have a good journey, Mr. Harkness."

Ianto put his arm around Jack's shoulders. "Yes, you enjoy yourself, darling." He planted a kiss on Jack's cheek and saw the woman's eyes grow wide as saucers. Jack looked no less surprised, but he managed to take it in stride, grinning back at Ianto and pulling him in for a full kiss on the mouth. Ianto knew he'd made a mistake; there'd be no end to the sly looks and wry comments from Jack after this, but for a brief moment, he'd gotten the upper hand over his captain, and it was worth it.

A gunshot rang out.

They pulled apart in time to see the glass of the ticket counter shatter, and Ms. Thompson leapt back and screamed.

"_Hey!_" Jack looked offended. "It was just a kiss!"

"Freeze! Put your hands in the air!" a voice boomed through a megaphone. All around, doors burst open as SWAT teams charged in, weapons raised, to join the advance squad that fired the first shot. "Please do not panic; we have identified two terrorists bent on carrying out an attack on the nation's railway system."

"What, us?" Ianto asked Jack.

"Looks like it," Jack said, putting his arms in the air. "On my mark, Ianto."

A special operations team was threading through the rapidly panicking crowd. All around, commuters screamed and fanned out from the ticket counter as people began locating the source of the alleged threat. Jack waited until one of the law enforcement officers was close enough to hear, and then he said, "You're talking about us? I assure you, we're not looking to blow anything up."

"You were seen fleeing the explosion at the Republican National Committee Headquarters."

"Oh, that?" Jack said. "We had nothing to do with that. Look! Nothing on us; where would we keep the bombs?"

"Don't _move_!" the man snapped, jerking his weapon in emphasis. Jack's hands froze midway in their move to empty his pockets, as he didn't even have a coat anymore. Ianto noticed, however, that this motion had conveniently brought his hands together so that Jack had ready access to his wristband.

"See, funny thing about sonic objects," Jack said. "They're so _useless_ half the time; they can't be used as weapons unless the beam is really, _really_ focused, and then it drains the batteries so badly, but at the right frequencies, do you know they can resonate steel?"

"Stop showing off, sir," Ianto said.

"Oh, well, right then." Jack hit a button on the wristband, and an almost inaudible screech emanated from it. The guns shook in sympathy with the vibrations, and the policeman pulled the trigger, but there was an empty _click_ and nothing happened. Jack grinned. "Looks like your weapons are jammed. _Run!_"

Jack grabbed Ianto's hand and dragged him after him as he took off sprinting for the train. "Oh good, the train will leave right on time!"

"I don't have a ticket, sir!" Ianto said.

"I think we're beyond that now!"

The train was picking up speed by the time they reached the tracks. Jack pounded on the door, but the passengers understandably didn't override the locks to let him in. Cursing, Jack blasted the doors with a second sonic wave, causing them to slide open. As he jumped on board, an agent caught up with them and tackled Ianto. Ianto managed to keep a grip on the door, however, and the train dragged both him and the agent onward. Jack looked like he was debating whether to disembark, but Ianto shook his head. 

"Get back to the hospital!" he said, letting go. He went tumbling head over heels, ending up in a pile with the agent as the train rushed onward. Jack didn't hesitate before he took off his wristband and threw it onto the platform.

"You'll need it!" he yelled.

Ianto extricated himself from the agent and picked it up. "Aha!" he said, clasping it around his arm. Then five agents tackled him from three different directions, and they all went down in a heap.

**--**

Lisa Cuddy could feel her head pounding as she surveyed the mess that was House's office. It was much too late to be worrying about why aliens wanted to invade her hospital, so for once, she realized following House's lead wouldn't be a bad idea and decided not to worry about silly questions like that.

"Hey, what's this?" Cameron-in-Chase's body asked, poking through the remains of one of the bodies. Cuddy heard Chase whimper behind her at the sight of his lab coat being dragged through murky green blood.

Cuddy saw House perk up and approach. Given his previous record with alien technology, she quickly cut him off and looked for herself. Cameron tossed aside what looked like a half-roasted digestive organ and picked up a small, metal box about three inches tall and two-by-four inches in area. Pinkish lights blinked at half-second intervals.

"It looks like it was hooked up to the organs," Cameron said, indicating some frayed wires. "The blast must have broken it."

House wheeled himself over on a cot and shoved Cuddy aside. This redirected the cart toward the divider between House's office and the conference room, and with nothing to hold onto, House crashed into the wall, fell off the cot, and rolled across the floor into Cameron. She gasped, and the box fell from her hands, bouncing across the ground and stopping just inches from the window. There was a tense silence in which the lights began flashing faster and faster and an urgent beeping emitted from the object.

"It's a bomb!" Chase screamed. He ran past, grabbing Cameron with one hand and House with his other. He dragged both of them out of the room, and Cuddy didn't hesitate to grab Wilson's arm and follow. The shockwave from the explosion threw them all down the hall as a cloud of flame and broken glass smashed through the wall opposite House's office and into a restroom. Immediately, fountains of water erupted into the air from the broken pipes, filling the hall with smoke and mist.

"House!" Cuddy roared.

"She dropped it," House said. "And you'd better not replace the carpet. It's finally gaining some character."

"Oh my god!" A nurse Cuddy recognized as Tracy Kindle ran up to them and stepped on Wilson's hand. "What happened?"

"Ow!" Wilson screamed. He stood, downed two more pills, and ran away without looking back.

"Gas leak," Cuddy replied. "Combined with House's incendiary personality."

"Wow, well the fire department sure responds fast, doesn't it?" Tracy said.

Cuddy looked outside--now only a foot away, thanks to the absence of House's office--and saw lights blinking in the distance. They were soon followed by the sound of alarms, but they didn't sound right. The shapes of the approaching vehicles began to resolve themselves, and Cuddy felt a strange apprehension sweep over her. "Those aren't fire trucks," she said. Then she heard the thump-thump-thump of helicopter blades, and a black military chopper whirled past overhead.

"That's the Department of Homeland Security," House said.

"What could they want with us?" Chase wondered aloud.

"Hmm, I _wonder_," Cameron replied, glaring at the remnants of House's office.

"Except they were already on their way when the alien attack occurred," House corrected her. He popped open his bottle of Vicodin and took three pills, ignoring Cuddy's reproving look. "Oh, I know! They can predict events in advance! It's like that movie with Tom Cruise and the really bad traffic system in Washington DC!"

At that moment, Tracy screamed and pointed down the hall, where a spider-like robot about two inches tall skittered through the smoke and, realizing it was spotted, dashed into the debris.

"Yes, Tracy?" Cuddy said as calmly as she could manage.

"Dr. House was right! There was a spider, robot, thing..." Tracy took from her pocket a yellow stress ball Cuddy recognized as belonging to the psych ward and started pumping it.

"I didn't see anything," Cuddy said, feeling somewhat guilty. "It must have been your imagination."

"Or something in the water!" Cameron added. Well, no one could ever say she wasn't a fast learner.

"Right, you three go get House a new cane, and I'll deal with Homeland Security," Cuddy said.

"Carry me?" House tugged Chase's arm.

Chase shook his head. "Can't with these puny arms."

Cameron punched him.

"I'll do it!" Tracy exclaimed. House's eyes widened as she grabbed his arms and tried to throw him over her shoulder. It predictably didn't work, and they both fell, jarring House's leg and causing him to roar in agony. "Gee, you're heavy, Dr. House. I'm going to have to use my stronger side, then."

"No, no!" House protested. "Really, that's--"

She picked him up again, and House looked ready to hit her, but this time she tossed him effortlessly over her right shoulder. "I walk my dogs with this hand, so it's a lot stronger," she declared.

"What kind of dog do you own?" Cameron gaped.

"Four German Shepherds. Come on, he's still heavy!"

"And don't leave the hospital," Cuddy called after them. "The shop sells canes."

"Ooh, I love the little shop!" Chase said.

**--**

"Get off me!" Ianto yelled, punching wildly as the SWAT agents tried to handcuff him.

"You're under arrest!" one of them yelled back. It was strange, Ianto mused, how humans tended to yell the most obvious things when under stress.

"If you don't let go, I shall have to do something unfortunate!" Ianto replied, remembering how Jack had once told him about a button on the wristband that one should never press except under the most dire circumstances.

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"I'm not sure!"

"Hold still!"

There was nothing for it. He wasn't going to be able to throw off five officers at once, so he brought his hands together, as though giving in to the arrest, and then found the button and pressed it. Instantly, all the agents jumped back, as though expecting a bomb to go off. Ianto wasn't sure they were wrong.

Then there was a loud screech of feedback from all the speakers in the station before the cacophony resolved into something even worse: "With a taste of your lips I'm on a ride. You're toxic, I'm slipping under..."

"It's Britney Spears! Run!"

As the crowd dispersed screaming, Ianto muttered, "That was low, Jack. That was really, really low."

_Vworp-vworp_. Ianto jumped as he heard the sound of a TARDIS materializing, and he looked around for any sign of a blue police box. None appeared, however, and he leaned against a railing, confused, before he realized there'd been no railing on the platform earlier.

"AAAAAAGH!" he cried as a hand reached out and pulled him into empty space.

**--**

The first person Cuddy met was neither an emergency responder nor a policeman. It was a general. One General Casper Posey, to be precise, entering the lobby at the head of an entire squad of National Guardsmen.

"What is the meaning of this?" Cuddy demanded after they'd all made their introductions.

"We have orders to secure your hospital."

"Orders from whom!"

"I'm not privileged to say, ma'am. Nevertheless, we would appreciate your cooperation."

"What's the reason for this, this _lockdown_!"

"A terrorist threat, and it appears we may have arrived too late."

"We had an unexpected gas leak," Cuddy responded stiffly, but the general seemed uninterested in her explanation. _They already know_, she thought. _They're here for the aliens._

She heard patients scream as soldiers began bursting into room after room, guns aimed high. A young couple tried to sneak through the front doors, but the police had already formed a perimeter around the building and refused to let anyone through, either in or out.

"What is the meaning of this?" Cuddy repeated, for lack of anything else to say.

"It's none of your concern," the general brushed her aside as he headed for the elevators, motioning for three soldiers to follow him. Cuddy paced after him.

"This is my hospital, and therefore everything that happens on these grounds is my concern! You're frightening innocent civilians, and your actions could put them in harm's way, and as a doctor, I won't allow any injury, physical or psychological, done to those under my care!"

Posey's finger hovered over the elevator's "up" button, and then he gave her a smile that chilled her to the bone. "Admirable sentiments, Dr. Cuddy." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. "We have a list of persons of interest, some of whom are on your staff." He handed it over. "The raids stop when they're in our custody."

On the balcony overhead, two soldiers dragged one of her nurses past. She had blood all over her scrubs and was screaming, "You can't enter! There's a surgery going on!"

The general followed her gaze and spoke into his headsets, "All men are to cooperate with the hospital staff until further notice."

The nurse wrenched her arm from their grips and stalked back toward the operating room, glaring at them but clearly shaken. Posey returned his eyes to Cuddy who snatched the paper from his hands. She took one look at the sheet and had to force back a sigh.

The first name on the list was: "Gregory House."

**--**

"That one's too long," House complained, wondering how long Chase and Cameron would let him get away with this. Cameron sighed and showed him the next cane. "No, too short."

Chase extracted one that House had thought was an umbrella and waved it in front of him. "I don't suppose this one will be just right?"

"Just because you're in her body doesn't mean you have to use Cameron's mouth," House replied. "And yes, it's just right... for a midget."

"Hey!"

House looked down to see a woman standing next to Cameron, her head at waist-level. "He said it!" House said, pointing at Cameron-in-Chase's body.

The midget kicked her in the shins and stormed out. Cameron picked up a cane and stabbed it at House's chest. "What do you think of this?"

"Aggressive, sexy, oh, you mean the cane? It's hideous. I mean, it looks like it escaped from some sweat shop in Cambodia and swam here in the stomach of a shark."

"Children die in those sweat shops!" Cameron said. "I've been attacked, shot at, and nearly eaten; I'm in no mood for your jokes, House!"

"Everybody relax!" Tracy said. "Squeeze your balls!"

"What?" Chase asked.

"If you can't control your body, you're the one who's going to get fired," House told him.

Chase shot Cameron a dark look and handed House a yellow cane with purple polka dots plastered all over it. House took one moment to wonder what it was doing in a hospital shop before rejecting it with a look of disgust. "Are you trying to kill my image?"

"I thought you'd like it," Chase snapped. "It's unique, it's special."

"Like everyone here!" Tracy exclaimed, clapping. House snatched the cane from Chase's hands and whacked her over the head. For a moment, she was stunned into silence, but as she rubbed her head, her look turned from one of surprise into one of righteous fury. "Now look here, mister," she said, waving a finger at him. "That was uncalled for."

"You got on my nerves," House replied. "If you hadn't clapped, then it would've just been a jab at the shins."

Tracy shoved her hand into House's pocket and withdrew his wallet, all in one forceful motion. She stormed over to the cashier and threw down three twenties. "He'll have that one he's holding. Keep the change."

"Um, actually, with tax it's 60.03."

"Oh," Tracy deflated, then perked up again and gave him a one. "There!" she said, sticking her tongue out at House.

"What? _Sixty dollars?_" House exclaimed. "You couldn't pay _me_ enough to take it."

"Well, too bad, it's yours."

House started limping over to the counter, but the cashier pointed at a sign and said, "No refunds."

"I'll buy another one," House growled. "Damn shop."

"I like the shop," Chase muttered. "It has bunnies." He indicated the top row of stuffed animals at the back of the shop.

The PA system turned on with a vengeful scream of feedback, and Cuddy announced, "Would Dr. Gregory House please report to the main lobby. This is Dr. Cuddy needing an urgent consult."

"Since when does she use my full name?" House asked. Cameron shrugged while Chase ran out of the shop and peeked over the balcony to spy on Cuddy. He rushed back.

"There are soldiers everywhere," he hissed.

"Oooh, it's a trap!" Tracy said.

"Brilliant deduction, Admiral Ackbar," House replied. "Cuddy and I really need to work out a secret code system. Like, 'House, my ass is on fire' for when she's in trouble. Or when she's alone. Or when she needs her fertility shot. Wow, so many possibilities, I guess we'll need to depend on inflection and context for meaning, like Chinese, except with more screaming..."

"I think we should get out of here," Cameron said as two soldiers marched past the shop entrance.

"Not until I get a better cane." House climbed onto the counter and crossed his arms.

"I think he's in the hospital shop." Cuddy's voice came through the intercom in a false whisper, as though she'd meant the words for the general's ears only but accidentally spoke them too loudly. "Oh look, my finger's still on the 'send' button. Haha, silly me."

House felt vaguely disturbed as he and Cameron exchanged identical looks of exasperation.

"Silly indeed, Dr. Cuddy," a man's voice came across the PA system.

"Oh yes, General Casper Posey, about forty-five years of age and two-hundred pounds with graying hair and a scar over his left eye. And look, my shirt is so inappropriately low-cut, don't you think? And it's getting very, very hot in here."

Chase slapped his forehead. House grinned, "It's like a bad porno radio play."

"Oh, I love those!" Tracy said.

"Let's go!" Cameron said, grabbing House's arm and pulling him off the counter. It was too late, though, because five soldiers were entering the shop.

"Is there a back door?" House asked the clerk. "Stupid shop," he said, when the clerk shook his head. House whacked Chase. "Go forth and let Cuddy's example multiply."

"What? No! I'm not doing that again!"

House filed this comment away as a line of inquiry to be pursued later. "Save your boss or you're fired."

"That's sexual harassment." Chase glared but set off nevertheless.

"Swing your hips more when you walk!" House added.

"And straighten your back!" Cameron contributed. "It'll make your breasts look bigger." House glanced at Cameron in surprise, but she returned his look with a cool gaze of her own. "What? Chase is hitting on the National Guard; it's better than watching _Grey's Anatomy_."

"Um, hello," Chase said. "Can I help you boys?"

"I can think of several ways," one of the soldiers said, pinching Chase's buttocks. He yelped, then changed the cry into a low growl.

"And she has an accent, too," another one said. "I love foreign women."

"Yeah, they can't sue us."

"Which one of them's Dr. House?" a third asked.

Chase glanced back at them, looking panicked, then quickly turned to face the soldiers and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Is it me or is it getting hot in here?"

"Shoo, shoo," House whispered as the soldiers all focused on Chase's/Cameron's chest. The three of them scampered toward the exit.

"Hey! There's people leaving the shop," a fourth soldier said, pointing. "I think she's a whaddyacall'em? A distraction!"

"Nonsense," Chase replied, pushing his breasts toward them. "Dr. House's the one pretending to be the cashier."

The fifth soldier squinted at the man, then shook his head. "Nope, that's not him."

"How do you know?" Chase asked.

"Because we've got pictures of the people on the wanted list!" he replied, holding up a set of photos.

"We do?" the third soldier said. "Oh hey, we do! Wait, you're Dr. Cameron, then!"

"I'm on the list?" Chase said.

Cameron glanced at House. "We're on the list?" she asked.

"See, if Cuddy had said, 'Oops, I lost my bra,' I'd have gotten the secret code message," House said. "It's all her fault."

"Oh my, I must have forgotten to wear my bra today," Cuddy said over the intercom. House could hear every male intern's head turn.

"Close enough." House shrugged. "_RUN!_"

From the corner of his eye, he could see Chase try to dash away, but the guards had him surrounded and they knocked him onto the floor and cuffed him.

"No copping a feel!" Chase screamed.

"What do we do?" Cameron asked, no longer amused.

"We go hide Gwen," House replied.

"I don't think now's the time to be worrying about our patient!"

House stopped, in part to make a dramatic point, in part to acknowledge the fact that he wasn't up for running long distances. "Why would Homeland Security be interested in us? I mean, the hospital, sure, with things blowing up and mysterious alien sightings all over the place, but _us_ in particular? And who seems particularly knowledgeable about alien activities?"

"Oh my god."

"And who's the only person of that group left in the hospital, right now?"

He didn't wait for an answer before he started running again. A soldier appeared around the corner up ahead. "Freeze!" he yelled, aiming his gun at them. House grabbed Tracy's stress ball and threw it at him. It struck him straight in his forehead, and his aim went just wide enough to hit the wall over Cameron's shoulder. They dodged past, and the way to Gwen's room was clear. Then Cameron had to go and ask the question House knew she was going to ask.

"If the hospital's locked down, what are we supposed to do after we get Gwen?"

**--**

Ianto's head was pounding as he woke. He must have struck his head against something as he was being pulled in, but given that he was lying in front of the door, he must not have been out very long.

The interior of the TARDIS wouldn't have been out of place in a 1950s Dracula film. This led Ianto to deduce two things. The first was that the Doctor hadn't found a fully-functional TARDIS and decided to help Ianto out of a fix. The second was that Ianto didn't want to meet the owner; after all, this was a decorator who'd probably blow up a planet at the sight of beaded curtains, and anyone who didn't at least acknowledge the possibility of beaded curtains wasn't worth knowing.

"Who are you!" a booming voice roared. A goateed man in a flaring robe with overlarge shoulder pads stormed out of a doorway.

"Who are you?" Ianto replied. "I mean, you abducted me and knocked me out; it's only fair you answer a question first."

"I know nothing of fairness!"

"Really? I have a dictionary here that might enlighten you." Ianto extracted the little book from a pocket inside his suit jacket.

The man slapped the book out of his hand and raised an instrument at him. Ianto prepared to duck aside, but the device emanated a green light that swept over him and vanished a second later. "You're human," the man growled. "No trace of background radiation."

"What radiation?"

"Time vortex radiation, you fool!" the man roared. "You're no companion of the Doctor!"

"Nope." Ianto grinned. "You got the wrong person, it seems."

"Ah, but did I?" The man swept a piece of paper up from the TARDIS console and put it next to Ianto's head. On it was written: 'WANTED: IANTO JONES' with a picture of him from several years ago. "No one hides from the Master! I know everything!"

"So you're the Master?"

"Damn it! No, no I'm not!"

"You just said you were."

"Yes, I am! But I knew who you were first."

"So?"

"I always win!"

"Actually, the Doctor says you always screw up. What's with all these titles for Time Lords, anyway?"

"So you _do_ know the Doctor!"

"Well, not really."

"Explain yourself!"

"We met briefly at a party."

"A party? The Doctor does not party."

"On the contrary, he has an extreme fondness for banana daiquiris."

"You _did_ meet him at a party! That bastard! I spend hundreds of years lost in time and space and he's off partying like the day we found the Wine Cellar of Rassilon!"

"And then he did that party trick where he goes back in time and tells you what curses your mother was screaming when she gave birth to you," Ianto said, wondering how long he could get away with blatant lies.

"Oh, I hate it when he does that!" the Master roared, crumpling up Ianto's wanted poster. "I was _not_ a fat fetus! My mother just had narrow hips!"

"And he used the 'my pants are bigger on the inside too' pick-up line."

"Do you know Marilyn Monroe fell for that one?"

"No way!"

"Way!"

"But Jack always insisted she was smarter than she looked."

The Master leaned forward menacingly. "Captain Jack Harkness?"

"Oops."

**--**

Gwen woke with a start when House burst into her room. "What's going on?" she asked. House extracted a sedative from his pocket and jabbed it into her arm. "Hey! What's that for?" She moved to slap his hand away, but then she fell asleep.

"That was uncalled for," Cameron said.

"You think it's better for her health if she's screaming while we send her bed careening through the halls?"

"Careening?"

"Yes," House said as he saw the elevator began disgorging soldier after soldier. "Like this!"

He gave the bed a shove and it flew down the hall straight at the group of armed men. House clambered onto the bed and yelled, "Jump on!"

He was pleased to see neither of them hesitated in following his orders.

"Halt!" one of the soldiers yelled.

"Medical emergency!" House replied. "She urgently needs a hippocampus transplant!"

"That sounds dangerous," the man said, stepping aside.

"Thanks!" House waved his cane at them as they passed. "God bless America!"

Gwen moaned. "Huh, wha--?"

House gave Cameron an accusatory look. She shrugged. "You must have picked up a placebo."

"Then why'd she fall asleep in the first place?"

"I didn't have time to replace all of it with saline."

"We're going to have a talk when this is over, Cameron."

"Cameron?" Tracy seemed to realize for the first time that there'd been a number of strange conversations in her presence. "Why'd you call him Cameron? Isn't Cameron the bitchy, self-righteous one with gorgeous hair?"

"Aww, thank you," Cameron said. "About the hair, I mean. Yours isn't bad either."

"Thanks, it's just naturally glossy."

"Show-off."

"Bitch."

"Whoa, down girl," said House.

"Why are we slowing down?" Gwen asked.

The bed squeaked to a halt in front of the stairwell.

"Oh my god!" Cuddy's voice drifted up from the first floor. "I think my panties are missing too."

"I promise you we'll look for your panties after I have House in my custody, Dr. Cuddy."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" House whacked Cameron over the head, because hitting Tracy was clearly a risky proposition. "Get off and push!"

Cameron and Tracy jumped off the bed and gave it a shove. House and Gwen went flying, and Tracy staggered and fell. Cameron paused, as though preparing to help her back up, but House grabbed her hand and pulled her along after him. "Jump on, you idiot! She called you a bitch, remember?"

"Hey!" Tracy yelled.

"They're not after you!" House reminded her. "Distract them!"

"Oh, ok." Tracy turned toward the stairwell and waved. "Hello Mr. General, you look stressed. Have you squeezed your balls today?"

House was sorely disappointed when he caught a flash of what looked like Cuddy in lingerie just as the bed rounded a corner. He poked Gwen. "How do you get two people out of a car trunk? Your co-worker and my employee are both stuck and apparently can't get out, and I'd like to have at least one of them back."

Cameron lifted an eyebrow. "You care about saving Foreman?"

"In movies, monsters always eat the minorities first."

"Foreman already got eaten once, remember?"

"Yeah, but if we get him out, they can eat him again! Come on, you had a close call once already; you wouldn't to ruin that beautiful hair, would you?"

"I'm in Chase's body."

"Exactly. Don't tell me you haven't noticed how soft it is. It must be because you two share shampoo."

"We don't share shampoo!"

"Smell your hair!"

Cameron sniffed. "Oh my god, it _is_ the same shampoo! That stalker!"

Either the two of them weren't sleeping together or Cameron was a better actress than House had given her credit for. There was only one way to resolve the issue, but since the hospital charity play was several months away, that would have to wait. A plot began brewing in his mind about how to make Cuddy and Cameron assent to a performance of _The Vagina Monologues_ for all the pre-teen cancer patients.

"You mean they're trapped by alien technology?" Gwen asked.

"Yup!"

"Uh, House?" Cameron tugged his sleeve.

"I think I can figure something out if you can get me to the parking structure."

"You're not well enough to leave the building. Plus, the police sort of have us surrounded."

"House?" Cameron's voice grew more insistent.

"Then get me some walkie-talkies and I'll walk someone through some possible solutions."

"House!"

"What?" House snapped his gaze from Gwen to Cameron.

"Look that way." Cameron pointed behind him.

He turned in time to see the railing of the balcony rush toward them. "Oh hell," he said, and then the bed smashed into the barrier, and the three of them flew into the air. There was a lot of screaming and Cameron shut her eyes, but an emergency response team was wheeling in a stretcher with a teenaged boy on it, and they landed atop him.

"Oh my god!" the boy screamed.

"Sorry, I'm terribly sorry," Cameron said as she climbed off him.

"Oh God, I promise you I'll never do drugs again!" he cried.

"Well, Vicodin isn't bad," House told him as Cameron lifted Gwen up and ran for the elevator. He limped after her.

"House!" one of the emergency response team snapped.

As one, all the soldiers in the lobby turned to face him. Even some of the police outside, who were reforming their blockade after letting the overdosing boy through, peered in through the glass.

"Gregory House?" a soldier asked.

"Nonono, lo siento, me llamo Carlos House, y yo no hablo ingles," House replied.

"What?" someone said.

The soldier shrugged. "I don't know. Damn Canadians and their weird Canadianian."

"Ciao!" House said. He took the walkie-talkies of the two nearest soldiers and followed Cameron away before they could react. Once out of sight, they dashed into the closest stairwell and headed into the basement.

"Where are we headed?" Cameron asked. "Or do you not have any clue and just hope to rely on the continued stupidity of our pursuers?"

"Well, you're breaking through the blockade and heading for the parking garage to free Foreman," House explained. "We're headed for the morgue!"

**--**

"So let me guess," Ianto said. "You want to defeat the Doctor, your old arch-enemy, so you decided to kidnap Jack in hopes of using his connection to lure the Doctor into a trap, but you got the wrong person and kidnapped his co-worker instead."

"And Jack's immortal! It's all I want, to live forever, is that really so much to ask?" The Master let out a choked sob. "But things always go wrong. I mean, you saw the Doctor at that party, and it must have been some party, wasn't it?"

Ianto made some noncommittal noises.

"And he was the life of the party! He _always_ does that! He overshadows everyone, and everybody loves him and in the excitement, no one remembers you exist, and it just makes me want to blow something up, or at least redecorate."

"Maybe, uh, you should consider shaving the goatee. It's very last decade."

"No! Never!" the Master roared, spittle flying from his mouth onto Ianto's face. "I did that briefly, and it didn't work out very well. It is my good luck charm! In fact, when I find myself in especial need for luck, I don't wash it for weeks on end!"

"I, I can tell," Ianto stammered, trying to ignore the ghastly, tortured remains of what looked like lutefisk staring at him from the depths of the Master's beard. "By the way, where are we?"

"We're still in Washington DC, present day time."

"So, uh, we haven't traveled anywhere?"

"Well, not far, anyway."

"I could help you find Jack, if you promise not to hurt him. You just need to let me out. That button unlocks the door?"

"Yes, but--"

"Great! See you later!" Ianto slammed his fist onto the button and ran for the door. The Master leapt after him, but Ianto was already outside and he slammed the door on his face.

"Ow! You-- oh my Gallifreyan ginger ale! My beard is caught! It hurts, it hurts!"

Ianto sighed in relief, realizing the Master wasn't about to leave his TARDIS any time soon. Then he noticed his surroundings, and he realized what the Master meant about not traveling far. The office was very white and very oval and very, very presidential.

It was also filled with Secret Service agents.

"What are you doing here?" one of them demanded.

"Uh." Ianto turned to look for the TARDIS, still expecting to see a blue police box, but there was nothing there. Closer inspection revealed it to be the desk, but no one was going to believe that. "Would anyone like coffee?" he tried.

"You're on the terrorist list!"

"No, no wait!" But it was too late. The seven agents raised their guns and fired at him.

**--**

Cameron skidded around a corner and onto the seventh floor of the parking garage. 

"Okay, I'm here! Where's the car?" she gasped into her walkie-talkie, out of breath from outrunning and dodging Homeland Security thugs.

"How should I know?" House asked from the other end.

"Ask Gwen!" There was some muffled conversation.

"She doesn't know either! Why would she know? She's been in a hospital for the last two days."

"Fine! What does it look like?"

"It's--"

"Wait, never mind, I think I see it," Cameron cut him off. She was pretty sure the minivan in front of her was the right car because there was something obviously bizarre about the space around it. For example, the four foot square of roof that was hovering over it: She was sure that wasn't normal.

She quickly opened the front door, a little surprised it wasn't locked, located the lever to pop the trunk, and pulled it. She heard the trunk open, and then--

"Oh thank god!"

"Get us out of here! He's crazy!"

"Foreman! Owen!" she yelled, running around to the other side of the car.

"Cameron, hurry it up, will you?" House demanded through the phone.

"I'm trying!" she said to House, then addressed Owen and Foreman. "Wow, you guys look uncomfortable."

"No shit," Owen said sarcastically. "Get us out!"

"Okay, okay, I'm trying!" Cameron grabbed Owen by the shoulders and pulled. She only got him up an inch before he seemed to hit an invisible barrier, and no matter how hard she pulled, she couldn't get him past it.

"Ow, you're hurting me, man!" Owen shouted at her.

"Well, sorry! I'm trying to help!" she shouted back, frustrated. 

"Well, help in a less painful way!"

"And by the way, I'm not a man!"

"Will you two calm down and figure out how to get us out of here? It's really cramped," Foreman interrupted. Cameron threw up her hands and let go of Owen, who shot her an incredulous look.

"You look like a man to me," he insisted.

"House," she said into the receiver, ignoring Owen while Foreman quickly explained that even though she looked like Chase, she wasn't. "Put Gwen on." With surprisingly few sarcastic comments about Cameron's ineptitude and a couple predictable snickers from Owen, House complied. "Gwen, you're the alien person. What should I do?"

"Alien person?" Gwen asked incredulously.

"Expert? Who cares? Just tell me what to do!" Cameron shouted.

"I don't know! Jack's the expert!"

"You must have some ideas!"

"Uh, whack it with a sledgehammer?" Gwen suggested. Cameron brightened.

"Good idea!" She glanced around her. "Wait right here, I'll be right back," she added to Foreman and Owen.

"Where the hell do you think we're going to go?" they shouted at her in unison as she took off running towards the stairwell. She slammed open the door and rushed inside.

"There must be some kind of supply closet around here. There always is," she muttered to herself. There wasn't, but there was one on the sixth floor, and it was locked. She kicked it ineffectually a few times in frustration before getting a hold of herself. She took a few deep breaths to calm down, then glanced at her feet. Right next to them was a paper clip. "Yes!" she cried, picking it up. 

She didn't really know the correct way to go about picking a lock, but the lock on the closet wasn't a very good one and a couple random twists and pokes got it open. It occurred to her belatedly that the likelihood of finding anything other than some oil and tires in a parking garage supply closet was pretty slim, but she yanked the door open anyway.

It wasn't a very big closet, and as expected, there was no sign of any sort of hammer.

"I can't find one," she said to the phone.

"Look in the west stairwell fourth floor supply closet," came House's voice.

"I don't even want to know how you'd know that," Cameron said as she took off running. The west stairwell was on the other side of the building.

"I keep one there for emergencies," House explained.

"What sort of emergencies would require you to have a sledgehammer in a parking garage?!" Cameron wheezed at him, cursing the fact that Chase's body was apparently more out of shape than her own. She reached the stairwell and legged it down two flights.

"Well, for starters, the one you're in now," House quipped. Cameron made a noise halfway between a grunt and a whine and pulled the supply closet door open. This one wasn't locked, which was a good thing since she hadn't brought the paper clip with her.

Sure enough, right in the back of the small closet, behind the wheel jack, was a big sledgehammer with a long wooden handle. She grabbed it, stumbled for a moment when it was heavier than she'd thought it would be, then hauled it up three flights of stairs and back across the garage to the minivan. 

"Okay!" she announced when she'd gotten there, then paused to catch her breath.

"You actually found one? Where?" asked Foreman.

"Long story. Now," she added to House, "is it really okay for me to destroy their car?"

"It's just a rental! Do it!" House yelled at her.

"Cool," she said, satisfied. "Okay, I don't think I can swing this thing with one hand, so I'm dropping the walkie-talkie. I'll call again if it doesn't work! Bye!" She turned it off without bothering to listen to House's reply. "I have no idea how good my aim is with one of these, so sorry if I hit you," she told Owen and Foreman as she pulled any remaining luggage out from around them and tossed it onto the ground behind her.

"What?!" they both shouted. Chase may not have had as much stamina as she did, but his arms were definitely more muscled, and it was easier than she'd expected to lift the heavy sledgehammer over her head. Owen screamed and Foreman whimpered and they both curled up a little tighter in the fetal position. She rolled her eyes and brought the metal head of the sledgehammer down hard on the side of the trunk. 

The metal crumpled under the force of the onslaught. When she pulled the hammer away, there was a sizable dent. She grinned in satisfaction and lifted the hammer over her head again. This time, however, she misjudged how far back it was and overbalanced, falling hard on her bottom and losing her grip, which caused the hammer to fall to the concrete and make a deafening sound that echoed for several minutes. Cameron froze.

"Oops," she said. "I hope no one bad heard that."

"Why? Was that so much louder than you whacking at the car?" cried Foreman, who was by now a little hysterical.

"Dunno." Cameron shrugged and picked herself off the ground. She hoisted the hammer over her head again and brought it down a couple inches from her last hit. The dent grew. She grimaced at the noise it made, but drew it up and slammed it down again. 

When she was satisfied that the left side of the minivan was satisfactorily mangled, she went to work on the other. Foreman and Owen were whimpering in terror. She finished banging on the left side, and wiped her brow on her sleeve. 

"Okay, maybe that destroyed the, uh, force field or whatever it is," she said, grabbing Owen's shoulders again and pulling. He didn't come free. "Dammit! Okay, I'm going to get House again."

Cameron turned the walkie-talkie back on and pressed send, but there was no answer. She was whining about how unreliable House was when something exploded on the floor below. She slammed the trunk shut and made to duck behind the van, but something big and slimy grabbed her from behind.

She screamed and twisted, barely catching sight of the giant, red alien that held her, before they both vanished.

**--**

The morgue was dark and suffused with an eerie seasick-vomit-green light. There was also an incessant drip-drip even though House felt sure Cuddy would throttle someone if there was a pipe leak in the hospital. He decided to ignore the fact that he'd blown up an entire bathroom earlier, and it'd ended with Cuddy stripping for a man in a uniform.

On second thought, maybe that was a fact he should keep in mind.

"House, what's that sound?" Gwen whispered.

House listened but didn't hear anything. "It's just your imagination," he said, calling for Cameron again. He got nothing but static, which was strange. Gwen grabbed the walkie-talkie.

"Did you hear that? A slight electronic distortion in the background?"

"Yeah?" House said, itching for a marker to write "Paranoia" on his differential board. "What about it?"

"The aliens are tracing our transmission!"

"That's ridiculous." His head snapped up as he heard what Gwen was talking about: the sound of boots thumping against vinyl. "Damn, you're right!"

The doors burst open and soldiers flooded in. House put up his hands. "I surrender! Can't speak for the cane, though; it's a little spotty."

"Are those guns?" Gwen exclaimed.

House eyed her, then recognizing a few tell-tale signs of impending psychosis, shuffled a few feet away from her bed.

"Those are guns! Put down those guns!"

"You're hardly in a position to make demands, missy," a captain said.

"Oh yeah?" Gwen pushed herself up and leapt out of the bed with perfect coordination. In a blink, she was standing in front of the captain. "How about if I do _this_!"

The man gurgled as she grabbed him by the neck and threw him two stories up the staircase. The other soldiers began backing away, but it was too late. Gwen let out a piercing shriek, grabbed an autopsy table and swung it at them. It sent five men flying, and then she grabbed another soldier by the arm and swung him around like a club, beating people over the head with him.

Three seconds after her rage attack began, all the soldiers were sprawled on the floor, unconscious. Gwen then turned to face House, and he took several steps back before regaining control over his instincts. "Hey, I'm a friend," House said, keeping his hands in the air. He indicated his leg. "Look, cripple!"

Gwen's expression slackened, and then she gasped and clutched her chest. "House... help me!"

She crumpled onto the floor, and House ran to her, turning her over and feeling for a pulse.

"Oh god," he said, wondering why his employees were always so incompetent. "It's a heart attack."

**--**

The third floor was mostly devoid of people. The reason was probably because screaming attracted attention, and there had been an awful lot of screaming from the lower levels a few minutes ago. Ironically, this was the same reason why Wilson was still on the third floor at all. He'd had all he could deal with of screams and craziness, so he wandered the halls aimlessly, wondering if he dared to make a dash for the relative sanctuary of his office.

He was pacing in front of the stairwell and trying to decide if it was worth it to risk going down when a small, slightly feminine old man literally appeared out of thin air right in front of him.

Wilson reeled back, his mind rebelling against yet another impossibility. With a great mental effort, he forced himself to keep on his feet and take in the man's bizarre entrance. Aside from being old, the man was dressed in the type of clothing that had gone out of style a couple hundred years ago and was smiling at him in a slightly creepy way.

"Uh..." Wilson stuttered, unsure of what sort of greeting was customary in such circumstances. 

"Hello," said the man, apparently completely unfazed by his unorthodox appearance. "My name is Bilis Manger. Could you please direct me to the room where a Miss Gwen Cooper is staying?"


	9. Interlude II: A Break From Death

**Interlude II**

**A Break from Death**

"Look, Mith Thuthan! A big thkeleton!"

Susan Sto Helit sighed. "Death doesn't find lisping any cuter than I do, Janet, so it won't get you any favors."

"Oh. That sucks." The little girl ran up to Death and poked him in the ribs. "My puppy died last Christmas. Can you give him back?"

Death scratched his head. WELL THAT WOULD DEPEND UPON WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM.

Susan raised an eyebrow at him.

"I sat on him!" Janet said happily. "We were playing horsey, but he wasn't very cooperative. If you give him back, can you make him bigger?"

"All right, Janet, why don't you join the other children in the playground now," Susan said, taking her arm and guided her gently but forcefully into the hall.

The little girl looked ready to protest, but Susan gave her the if-you-don't-cooperate-you'll-lose-all-chances-at-getting-a-gold-star-this-week look and shut the door on her. Then she whirled back on Death and stalked--not _STALKED_--toward him with a grim expression on her face and her hair writhing out of control. "We've been over this before. No appearing before the children, no appearing without warning, and no letting him ever, _ever_, near my chocolate!" She threw open the top drawer of her desk and grabbed the Death of Rats.

SQUEAK, he protested, and a chocolate-covered almond dropped from his paws.

I THOUGHT YOU KEPT THE CHOCOLATES IN THE CABINET, Death said, looking a little sheepish. For a moment, Susan's anger vanished as she reconsidered the mystery of her disappearing chocolates.

"Well, they clearly weren't safe in the cabinets," she replied. "What do you want? Recess ends in five minutes, and I want you out of here by then."

I AM TAKING A VACATION, announced Death. He brushed some non-existent dust off his robe, as though to draw attention to the fact that it was new.

"_What?_" Susan groaned.

I THOUGHT IT POLITE TO NOTIFY YOU IN ADVANCE, THIS TIME.

"Can't you find someone else to be your replacement?"

THE LAST TIME I DID THAT, YOUR FATHER CHANGED THE HISTORY OF THE DISC.

"Yeah, but that happens all the time anyway."

BINKY MISSES YOU.

"Oh, no, don't play the helpless horse card on me."

IT WILL JUST BE FOR A WEEK.

"Why? What sort of anthropomorphic personification needs a vacation?"

I AM YOUR GRANDFATHER, YOUNG LADY.

"That line had its day years ago."

I COULD GIVE YOU A KITTEN? Death extracted a mewing tabby from his robe and set it down on her desk. The Death of Rats let out a little shriek as the cat promptly jumped on it and started sharpening her teeth on his skull, purring all the while.

"Explain."

I AM DESIROUS OF TRAVELING THE UNIVERSE AND WITNESSING ITS MANY MARVELS IN THE FACE OF THE GRADUAL, CREEPING ENTROPY WHICH WILL EVENTUALLY BECOME THE ULTIMATE DEATH OF ALL ITS INHABITANTS.

"You're going on sabbatical?"

ER, THAT DOES SOUND BETTER, YES.

"I'm not covering your vacation! At least when you have a mental breakdown, I know you didn't shove the position on me while in your right mind."

IT IS A SABBATICAL. IT IS IMPORTANT FOR THE FATE OF THE UNIVERSE.

"You're going to have tea with crazy cat ladies and cook quiches!"

A CRITICAL MASS OF QUICHES IS IMPORTANT FOR THE STABILITY OF THE SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM.

"You're making stuff up! Never lie to someone you need favors from."

THE ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS.

"And they are...?"

LOOK! AN ANTELOPE. Death pointed behind her with one hand and scooped the kitten up with his other. The cat yowled as the Death of Rats fell from her grip and scampered away into Susan's box of chocolates. Susan didn't take her eyes off her grandfather. YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO LOOK THAT WAY, he said, wiggling his finger.

"An antelope? Really."

YES. IT APPEARS TO BE EATING YOUNG JANET'S FINGERPAINTING.

"That has no bearing on this conversation."

WOULD YOU PLEASE CONSIDER TAKING OVER MY POSITION FOR A WEEK? I AM SURE IT WOULD PROVIDE A WELCOME BREAK FROM YOUR STRENUOUS DUTIES HERE AND PROVIDE YOU SOME TIME TO PURSUE YOUR OWN INTERESTS. PLENTY OF _TIME_.

Susan considered this. While she suspected she ought to yell at him some more, the prospect of having Time all to herself was certainly an interesting proposition. She suspected he'd find it interesting as well. "Oh fine."

THANK YOU. Death turned and walked away through the side wall, taking the kitten and the Death of Rats with him. So Death was taking a break from death. Susan sighed as she considered the fact that most people lived even stranger lives than her and wondered whether she ought to feel sorry for them or not. Then she picked up the poker she kept under her desk and gave the antelope a strong whack on the behind, sending it off to harass some other classroom.

"At least this time, I know when he'll be back," she said to the empty room.

In the shadows, little voices giggled, and their laughter echoed sinisterly.

**--**

The universe was a vast place, so grand and complex even an immortal such as Death could not visit all its wonders. He couldn't even begin to see a thousandth of a thousandth of a thousandth of a percent of it, but he had a week in which to savor a small sample.

SQUEAK, the Death of Rats told him as he shut his suitcase.

YES, I _COULD_ BEND TIME AND SPACE AND BE GONE AS LONG AS I WANT, BUT THAT WOULD BE UNFAIR TO SUSAN, WOULDN'T IT?

"What she doesn't know can't hurt her," Quoth, the raven, said.

ALFRED WOULD KNOW, replied Death. AND YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN ALFRED GETS UPSET.

"Yes, he sulks. It's absolutely terrifying."

Death extracted a pair of dice from his robe and clattered them about in his bony hands. Humans had such fascinating pastimes, and the game of chance was one that had puzzled him for ages. For one thing, the laws of probabilities stated that you were guaranteed to lose at some point. The perversity of persisting in this sort of futile pursuit increased further after some fool in Überwald named Edvard Morfine formulated Morfine's Law that anything that could go wrong would do so in a manner that would cause maximum pain and suffering. He proved this by enclosing cats in boxes with cyanide pills that had a fifty percent chance of exploding at any given moment. Whenever the observers were cat-lovers, the pill always exploded the moment before the box was opened. Whenever the observers were cat-haters, the cat escaped safely, only to be mauled by a pack of lipwigzers once out of sight, for the law was a species-blind offender (what happened to the dogs, no one yet knew, but it was presumably something awful as well).

When Death found out about this, he persuaded Susan to track down the man and convince him that the same rules governed the afterlife. As a result, the man now spent all of eternity with a succession of fifty-pound cats taking turns sleeping on his face. 

Nevertheless, the fact that probability was a form of human imagination masquerading as an objective fact of life made Death wonder why people never caught on. Alfred had then introduced him to a series of books called _The Twelve Step Program for Recovering Addicts_. Death made it as far as Giving All Your Money to a Temple So You Can't Spend It before he gave the study up as hopeless.

OF COURSE, Death mused, A LITTLE BIT OF EVERYTHING IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL.

The dice in his hands were special. They were spherical rather than cubic and possessed, as far as Death knew, an infinite number of sides, for that was the definition of a sphere. On one die was inscribed every possible spatial coordinate in existence, and on the other was every possible temporal coordinate in the forward and backward history of the universe.

"Is everything in order, Master?" Alfred asked as he entered the room, carrying a tray suffused in blue light.

YES, ALFRED, I AM READY. Death took the tray and positioned the dice over them. DEATH TRAVELS BY THE WILL OF THE DIE, HA HA HA.

"Yes, very funny, sir," Alfred said stiffly.

Death dropped the dice. They clattered once, twice, then rolled to a stop. A flash of blue light burst forth from the tray and spread along Death's fingers up his arms and around his body. When it faded, his surroundings had changed, his companions were gone, and he had no idea where he was.

DISCOVERING WHERE YOU ARE IS HALF THE ADVENTURE, Death said to himself, pleased at discovering a use for a phrase he'd picked up on the disc. Of course, the man who said it had then fallen into the sewers of Ankh-Morpork and been eaten by giant alligators. That was the problem with being death incarnate; you never got to see people happy. Well, that was what vacations were for.

_BOOM!_

OH DEAR. Death finally got a good look at his surroundings. Although everything was dark and the details of his environment were difficult to see, it wasn't nighttime as he'd first assumed. Rather, he was indoors in a massive warehouse of some sort, and all the lights were out. Far in the distance, a red glow emanated from a room.

Death picked his way up a flight of stairs. All around, containers were broken and some sort of transparent wrapping material littered the ground. Further along, he found bodies and broken shells of metal suits of armor. It looked as though he'd teleported himself into the middle of a battlefield. Mentally, Death cursed Morfine and hoped a seventy-pound cat would soon head his way. There was so much beauty in the universe, and so much nothingness as well; in fact, by all statistical measures, Death should have found himself in the middle of deep space, but no, the first place he visited _had_ to be a battlefield littered with dead people.

Then he arrived at the source of the light, and he peered through a doorway straight into the heart of an inferno.

OH MY, he said, and this was one of those rare instances when Death was truly left in awe. Before him on a screen was an image of a beautiful spherical planet, all shades of blue and green and brown with clusters of clouds swirling about in a way they never could on the disc. All around the sphere was pure blackness, broken only by the white pinpoints of a field of stars. A red glow covered the screen, and the planet grew larger and larger. Death suddenly realized what was happening, but for once, he could understand what it meant to see beauty in destruction.

THE TIME OF ALL THINGS MUST COME, Death said, and if he could feel emotions, he knew he would be feeling sorrow now, BUT IF DARKNESS MUST COME, BETTER IT BE A FLASH OF BRILLIANCE THAN A SLOW FADING.

All around him, the roar of rushing particles and the scream of melting metal grew louder with every passing instant. Behind him, the cargo hold began splintering. The walls glowed red, and beams crashed down from the ceiling. Death stared at the awful chaos before him, saw the bodies on the floor catch fire and burn, and then he realized someone was speaking to him.

"Who are you?" a voice repeated.

So riveted Death had been by the screen that he'd missed the figure standing before it. The sole survivor of the battle was a young boy, barely entering manhood, and he held a gun in two shaking hands, one of which had a piece of braided rope wrapped about the fingers. He must have grabbed the gun from the fallen warrior beside him when he heard Death speak, and now he aimed it at him.

YOU KNOW WHO I AM.

"No, no I don't," the boy said. "You don't sound like one of them, but you could still be an android. It dressed up like you, back during the Plague."

A burst of flame roared through the doors past Death and into the room. The boy took a step back, and the tongues of fire barely missed his face. The light illuminated his expression, and Death saw in his eyes sadness and resignation but no fear. Just an angry, raging determination, and though Death had met many heroes who'd accepted death as a final glory and many more who'd welcomed death as a relief, he didn't think he'd ever seen someone quite like this boy, so unwilling to die yet so willing to accept the inexorable end.

Death considered for but a moment, and then he decided. This was no interference, after all, just a delay of the inevitable.

I AM NO IMITATION, he said. I CAN PROVE IT TO YOU.

"How?" the boy challenged.

I CAN SLOW DOWN TIME, IF YOU ARE WILLING. I WOULD LIKE TO TALK, BUT IF YOU WOULD RATHER NOT PROLONG THE WAITING, I WILL HONOR YOUR WISHES.

The boy blinked, but his aim didn't shift. He seemed to suspect a trap, but he said, "How long?"

I COULD GIVE YOU FIVE MORE MINUTES.

Five minutes, nothing in the span of a lifetime, or even a day, but it was something. The boy laughed humorlessly. "Why not? Life is life."

Death raised one hand, and the boy nearly fired, but then he snapped his fingers and all noise ceased. The boy looked about in wonder. With a finger, he reached out to touch one of a thousand sparks flying through the air in slow motion. It sizzled against his skin but when he pulled his finger away, it was unburnt, and the spark continued its glacial arc.

The boy dropped his gun and smiled weakly. "Well, at least this way, I'll have more time to react when my friends come."

YOU ARE EXPECTING RESCUE?

"My friends won't let me down. _He's_ never let me down."

ARE THEY ON BOARD THIS SHIP? The boy's words sounded so silly, so ridiculous, and yet Death felt he was the fool here, while the boy was the one who knew what he was talking about. For a moment, Death could almost believe the boy would live, just from the conviction in his voice, and he wished he could read his hourglass to confirm this, but the boy was not under his dominion, and he was as blind as any other living creature in the matter of this life and death.

The boy shook his head. "It's complicated. You said you wanted to talk, then talk, but don't ask for my life story. I want something new before I die; I don't need to relive what I worked so hard to escape."

YOU BELIEVE YOU WILL DIE, YET YOU DON'T TAKE MY ARRIVAL AS A SIGN OF YOUR IMPENDING DEMISE.

"You're the death of humans." He looked so defiant, so proud. "But I'm not human; you're not here for me, so what _are_ you hear for? Or who?"

I AM ON VACATION, Death replied and instantly regretted his choice of words.

"You're on _vacation_?" the boy replied incredulously. He looked furious. "So this is your idea of fun? A jolly romp through space to see how other species die!"

MY TRAVEL IS RANDOM. Death showed him the dice. IT WAS NOT MY INTENTION TO BE HERE, BUT I WILL NOT REGRET HAVING SEEN THIS. I AM THE DESTROYER OF LIGHT; THE REASON FOR MY EXISTENCE IS TO WATCH OTHERS END, BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN I DO NOT RESPECT THAT WHICH WORKS SO HARD TO DELAY ME.

"There's nothing to see here, no delay. I failed," the boy said, turning back to the control panel. "This planet is going to die because I couldn't save it. These," he pointed at the console, "these logic panels locked the controls on Earth, and I could have solved them, but that, that _thing_ kept me from finishing."

Death walked up beside him and looked down at the scorched metal controls. He swept one bony finger along them, and pieces chipped off at his touch. He turned to look at the boy. YOU FEEL STRONGLY ABOUT THIS FAILURE. WHY?

"I'll never know if I was right," the boy said.

IT IS THE PUZZLE THAT MATTERS TO YOU?

"It's who I _am_! I never fit in. Nobody ever wanted me with them. I always had to force myself in, to prove myself, and even when I did, they accepted me grudgingly. Through it all, my calculations were all I could count on; they were all I could be proud of, all that I knew would never fail me."

Death waved his hands over the control, and sparks exploded, but they flew _backwards_, soaring through the air in real-time, not slowly like everything else. The panel shook as it absorbed the glowing points one by one. It resealed itself and the scorch marks faded. The boy watched breathlessly as they waited one second, two, and the panel _clicked_.

"I was right," he breathed. "I was right."

IT WILL NOT SAVE YOU. I CANNOT INTERFERE IN ANY SIGNIFICANT MANNER.

"That's okay, I know. He's the same way, my friend. So much power in his hands, but he can't use it, because with his power he has knowledge, and once you know the consequences of interfering, you know you can't do it, no matter how much you want to, no matter how much it breaks your heart." The boy sighed. "He can't come back for me. If he doesn't come back for me, that's why." He smiled sadly. "I have to believe that's why."

HAVE FAITH.

This seemed to strike a nerve in the boy. He turned to him with such violence his hair fell before his eyes, but Death could still feel the force of his glare. "Why? It's been more than two minutes already. If he was going to come, he'd have come, but he hasn't! Why should I lie to myself any more? It's bad enough that I still trust him, but I can't bring myself not to. Why wait for something that's never going to happen? That's what my people did; entire generations spent their lives waiting for something that was never going to happen, and if the Doctor hadn't come, they'd still be waiting, wasting their lives away, putting _faith_ in a _lie_! Numbers don't lie; I can trust numbers, but everything else, everyone else... they always let you down in the end."

AT LEAST THERE IS BEAUTY. Death cringed, knowing how hollow his words must sound. It wasn't supposed to be like this; he only appeared when people were already dead, and then he ushered them away and did his job. This comforting, this involving himself when there was nothing he could do and no reason to stay, it was a new experience, and he wondered how humans coped. He knew how to interfere, and he knew how to perform his task, but he didn't know how just to stand there and _watch_ someone die.

"No!" The boy slammed his fist against the console. "It isn't beautiful! I'm sorry, but there's no beauty in death! Dead is dead, and this planet is going to go before its time. Billions of creatures all dying too soon, and what did they do to deserve it? It isn't fair, it isn't noble, it isn't beautiful! There is no good death. One way or another, it's all the same, it ends in darkness."

DEATH IS WHAT YOU MAKE OF IT, Death replied, wracking his memories for all the countless souls he'd ushered away. Each memory burned; to him, they were as the warmth of starlight in the vacuum of space, but for one who was supposed to feel nothing, their touch was as powerful as the flames that would soon engulf this ship and the young boy. He forced himself to remember, though, to convince himself that his words were true. HEROES DIE AS HEROES NOT BECAUSE OF WHAT THEY DID IN LIFE BUT BECAUSE OF HOW THEY APPROACHED THEIR DEMISE. IF YOU TRUST THERE IS MORE TO COME, THEN THERE WILL ALWAYS BE SOMETHING WAITING.

"Maybe I don't want to find anything else." The boy lifted up the strand of rope to his face. "My brother's dead. My family's gone, and if there's another life, how will I find them? They're in a whole other universe, different dimensions, how would I ever make my way back? I can calculate the path in this world, but how do I know the rules will be the same in the next? How do I know they'd want me back?"

YOU COULD WAIT FOR YOUR FRIENDS.

"I'm sick of waiting! I'm tired of having expectations that won't be met."

THEN YOU DESIRE NOTHINGNESS? YOU DO NOT WISH FOR A SOUL?

"Life is suffering," the boy whispered. "To be is to suffer. You know this, don't you? I can see it in your eyes." The blue glow of Death's eyes were reflected in the boy's. "Dying starlight, that's what your eyes are. All you ever see is beautiful things run down. Don't you ever get tired of it?"

FATIGUE IS AN EMOTION FOR THE LIVING, Death said, but all his words were sounding wrong. He was feeling... _doubt_. IT IS NOT FOR ANTHROPOMORPHIC PERSONIFICATIONS TO TIRE.

"But you feel it anyway. How can you not? You're _Death_, if you really are. You exist only in the minds of those you take. And anything created is only as good as its maker. You tell yourself you don't know what it's like to live, but you know, because life gave birth to you."

IT... I...

"That's something new, isn't it? To put fear in the heart of Death."

Death rallied. I DO NOT FEAR, he boomed.

The boy nodded, backing away as though to distance himself from Death's distasteful existence. "You tell yourself that. You just keep repeating that to yourself. Have faith."

YOU DO NOT MEAN THAT. YOU ARE LASHING OUT AT ME BECAUSE YOU WISH TO RAGE AT YOUR OWN SITUATION.

"And now you're angry. Such a range of emotions for the emotionless."

_I AM NOT ANGRY!_ I CANNOT FEEL EMOTIONS. EMOTIONS ARE JUST GLANDS.

"Are they? What a base explanation for the driving force of life."

ALL THOSE I MEET FEEL NOTHING.

"How do you know they're not just numb? Ever heard of shock? Dying's probably enough to unhinge the most well-balanced mind, even if just for a little while, and do you ever hang around to see what happens? Do you ever care?"

I CARE MORE THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE! DO NOT TAUNT ME! I GIVE YOU THE GIFT OF TIME, AND YOU MOCK ME!

The boy laughed a bitter laugh that rattled Death's bones to their very core. "You gave me time to satisfy your own curiosity."

THE INTELLECT IS ALL I HAVE.

"For all that intelligent life prides its intellect, you rarely see it use it. Face it, emotions drive you, emotions are what prove you're alive. Emotions destroy you, but without them, you're already gone! That's the balancing act we all have to deal with, that's what it means to be alive: to teeter on the knife-edge between greatness and insanity, and when it ends, it ends, because what cruel universe forces you to carry that burden forever? What sick gods would make you strain towards nothingness for all eternity and never let you reach even that one small peace?"

THIS IS NOT TRUE. THERE CAN BE JOY AFTER DEATH. THERE CAN BE MORE LIFE. I HAVE SEEN HEAVENS AND HELLS, REINCARNATIONS AND KARMA. THERE IS CONTINUATION, THERE IS MORE, THERE IS MEANING.

"_There is nothing_! And that scares you! The great destroyer, you call yourself, but you're afraid, because deep down, you know what you're bringing to others, you know that with each of your actions, you let the end of everything come one step closer. You help increase the entropy of this universe and never think to slow it down, because you tell yourself that is the way life works, and when it's all over, there'll be light and happiness waiting for everyone, but what if there isn't? What if one day, you've extinguished all life, and with your job done, you fade as well, and then you find that there _isn't_ light, there isn't anything waiting."

I DO NOT NEED TO HEAR THIS! YOU ARE BUT A BRIEF MORTAL, WHILE I REIGN FOR ALL OF TIME! I HAVE ACCESS TO KNOWLEDGE OF A VASTNESS YOU COULD NOT BEGIN TO COMPREHEND.

"Then why stop time for me? You're curious, but you're afraid to listen to what I have to say, because you're afraid my words will be true. You're scared, then fine, _leave_. Go! My five minutes are almost up anyway; you're not killing me any faster. In fact, you've given me four minutes I wouldn't have otherwise had. Run, proud immortal, and while you flee, you can feel good that you gave an insignificant creature the gift of four more minutes of suffering."

I DO NOT RENEGE ON MY PROMISES.

"I free you from your promise!"

Death could feel his own will cracking, and with it went his strength to hold at bay the ravages of time. Time, such a dangerous companion Susan had chosen for herself, and now, it broke through Death's floodgates at the command of one small boy whose will was greater than all the heroes he'd ever met, and its waters raged through the ship, accelerating the destruction and washing all his efforts away before it. With one loud crack, Death's influence disappeared. Sparks finished their arcs, droplets of liquid metal completed their falls, and girders continued their collapse. The roar of the dying freighter pounded at their ears, and the boy smiled.

"You hold no dominion over me."

WHAT IS YOUR NAME? Death strained to see the boy, but smoke poured in from the hold, obscuring both of them. He could hear the boy start wheezing. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

"Do you really want to know?" the boy asked weakly, forcing the words out between hacking coughs.

YES, Death forced himself to say. He heard the boy collapse, thudding onto the ground like a dull weight, sounding no different from a falling sack of flour. Death leaned closer. I NEED TO KNOW.

The boy looked up at him, and though their faces were bare inches apart, the smoke still obscured most of his features. Death could see his smile though, and he could see the penetrating eyes that still retained their power even in his last moments of life. It was the smile that he remembered, though, the smile that never faded as the boy whispered, "I'm not going to tell you. And that... is _my_ gift... to you."

The boy went limp, his head dropping to the ground. Just as he lost consciousness, Death heard a distant sound, growing louder. It didn't seem to belong on this crashing freighter, and it wasn't a sound Death had ever heard before.

_Vworp... vworp... vworp..._

Death looked up and saw a blue box materialize out of thin air. Were these the friends the boy spoke of?

Death desperately wanted to pick up the boy and carry him into the box, but the consequences the boy had spoken of still burned in his mind, and he knew he couldn't interfere.

HURRY, HURRY AND SAVE HIM, Death implored the box's occupants, though he knew they couldn't hear him. Rescue was so close and yet so far, and there was _nothing he could do_. In that moment, he had never hated himself more. Not even the day Mort and Ysabell had died did he feel so pained, for this boy had just torn down everything he'd ever known, everything he'd _believed_ to be fact. They were all lies, even the numbers, because what were facts in the face of emotion?

NO, THIS CANNOT BE. I EXIST FOR A REASON... Death hesitated, wanting to leave, wanting to stay. The laws of the disc did not apply here, and he wanted to see the boy rescued, but he was afraid it wouldn't happen. THERE ARE... RULES... I CANNOT FIGHT... And Death knew what he had to do.

He forced himself to take one step away from the limp body. The succeeding steps didn't grow easier, but he made himself perform them, one after another until he was back in the cargo hold. He didn't look back, because he knew that if he did, he would be lost.

With the last shred of self-control he possessed, he lifted the dice in one hand and the tray in the other, and before he could hear the door of the box open, he rolled the dice. He let chance have its say. Blue light engulfed him, and it was followed by the absence of sound and vision, of life and death and everything else that mattered.

There was nothing out here, not even the slightest twinkle of light from the closest star in the universe. Everything was complete blackness, and Death knew where he was; only in the furthest edges of the universe did space expand faster than the speed of light, and thus, no light would ever reach this point, not if he waited until the end of time itself.

DEEP SPACE, Death whispered to himself. DEEP SPACE AT LAST.

And the boy was right. There was no peace comparable to nothingness. His hands were still poised to pick up the dice and roll them again, but he had no will to do so. He decided he could afford to spend some time here. It wasn't waiting, it was just rest. A true vacation.

I WILL GO BACK WHEN I AM READY, Death said. I _WILL_ BE READY.

He would bring destruction to the universe once again, but not now. Not just now. Just this once, he would take a break from death.

**--**

Jamie waited anxiously. The Doctor was moving about nervously and wringing his hands. As soon as the TARDIS materialized, the Doctor hit the switch to open the viewscreen. 

They were on a spaceship, and the spaceship was quite obviously on fire.

"Oh dear," the Doctor fretted. "Well, we certainly won't be staying here. Just let me set some new coordinates."

Jamie wasn't listening. Instead, he was staring at the viewscreen, trying to make out something he was sure had moved. "Doctor, wait, there's someone out there," he said.

"Jamie," the Doctor said sternly, "You are not going out there. You'd get killed."

"But we cannae jus' leave 'em!"

"I'm sorry, Jamie, but there's nothing we can do!" The Doctor looked clearly distressed at this, but he kept programming coordinates. "There! That should do it!"

Before the Doctor could press the button to dematerialize, Jamie dodged past him, pulled the door lever, and ran out. The Doctor's shocked cry echoed behind him and the smoke threatened to choke him, but he didn't stop. He put his sleeve over his mouth and nose and stooped low to breathe in as little smoke as possible. 

He moved gracefully around various fallen wires and other debris. He tried to remember where he'd seen the movement. It occurred to him belatedly that it might've not even been a person--it could easily have just been something falling.

It was unbearably hot, and the smoke was making his eyes hurt terribly. It was nearly impossible to see. He stumbled over a piece of what looked like part of a control panel and caught himself on a chair. The metal it was made out of was scorchingly hot and he pulled his hand back, dimly aware that it was probably pretty badly burned. The still uncared-for wound of his arm ached, throbbing in time to the burns on his hand. He pushed the pain aside and looked around him, trying to determine where exactly he was. 

He could barely make out the big, blue shape of the TARDIS through the smoke, despite it being no more than fifteen feet away. He turned to look straight ahead of him. He could barely make out more than basic dark shapes, some obviously controls or chairs, and some that were less easily identified.

Jamie knew he couldn't last for long. There wasn't much air, and constantly breathing in the smoke was wreaking havoc on his lungs. He coughed a few times and started off in the direction he thought he'd seen movement. 

He'd moved barely more than three feet when he nearly tripped over something soft. Further inspection revealed it to be a person, though the smoke made it difficult to identify gender or age, or even whether or not the person was still alive, though Jamie guessed it was a young boy. He hoisted the person over his shoulder and started on his way back. 

The heat increased. The pain in his palm and his arm increased. He couldn't see or breathe. He could barely move under the extra weight. Off to his right, something exploded. He winced as he felt the blast, felt the fire licking perilously close. Crossing the fifteen feet to the TARDIS seemed like crossing miles. 

The whole room was shaking like crazy, and it was almost impossible for Jamie to stay upright, especially while he was overbalanced by the weight of the boy. Something else exploded, a little closer than the last one. Shrapnel flew past him, and he felt it cutting his legs and face. It stung, but none of the cuts felt very deep. 

The TARDIS doors were, mercifully, still open, and Jamie stumbled in and collapsed instantly. The Doctor, who looked dreadfully worried, slammed the door lever down and ran over to him.

"Jamie, Jamie, why did you do that? Are you okay? Oh, who is this?" he said, all frantic movement as he helped Jamie sit up and then went about checking on the boy. Jamie tried to take too deep a breath and lapsed into a coughing fit. The Doctor shot him a worried glance and dashed over to where he'd already set out all the necessary medical supplies. He gave Jamie an oxygen mask, which Jamie took gratefully. Slowly he calmed down enough to slap the Doctor's worried hands away from his cuts and burns, gesturing for him to examine the boy instead.

"Oh, yes, of course," the Doctor muttered and switched objectives. The boy was unconscious, and his hair and clothes were dusted thickly with ashes. The Doctor strapped another oxygen mask over his nose and mouth and rummaged around for bandages.

"Is he going t' be okay?" Jamie wheezed after a few minutes. 

"Well, he's suffering from smoke inhalation, of course, but his burns seem mostly minor. I'd say yours are worse, actually. If you'd just let me look--"

"No!" Jamie said, pulling back. "See t' him. I'm no wee bairn what never been injured before, I can do it myself."

"Well, alright," the Doctor said, giving him a slightly hurt look. As an after thought, he pushed the box of supplies closer to Jamie. "Do be careful, won't you?"

"Aye," Jamie mumbled, a little embarrassed by his outburst. The Doctor picked up the boy and carried him out of the console room, presumably to put him in his own room. Jamie stared at the floor and thought. About an hour later when the Doctor walked back in, he hadn't made much progress.

"He'll probably be fine, Jamie," the Doctor said. "I put him in a room near yours so you can look in on him later. He's still unconscious, but I've bandaged him up and he's breathing fine without the mask now. He should wake up in a day or so, I would guess." Jamie nodded, a little touched at the Doctor's thoughtfulness. The Doctor sat down next to him, a comforting and unobtrusive presence, silently offering his help if Jamie decided he needed any. Jamie stared at his feet for a while longer, then took a deep breath and swallowed his pride.

"Doctor, if ye would be willing, would ye maybe help me afterall?" The Doctor beamed at him.

"Of course, Jamie," he said.


	10. Chapter 6: You Owe it to the World

**Chapter 6**

**You Owe It to the World**

Ianto watched the guns discharge in slow motion, the flashes of light and bursts of smoke, the air swirling in eddies about the bullets. He spent one moment gaping before he realized it wasn't a trick of the mind. The bullets really _were_ moving in slow motion.

"What the--" he managed before someone tackled him, sending them both crashing into the wall behind the President's desk.

He looked up to see a woman dressed in black, tall and thin with hair white as snow save for one streak of black through the middle. She was also carrying a fireplace poker, though at the moment, it was stuck in an uncomfortable position underneath him.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Not now," she snapped. "There's someone interfering with my ability to stop time."

"That's good to know," he said, unable to think of any other response. Her words became fact as he heard a soft pop, like someone squeezing a roll of plastic wrap, and the bullets that'd been aimed at him smashed through the windows above them, raining down glass and plaster. "It's probably the Master," he added, pointing at the desk.

"That's a TARDIS?" The woman replied, lifting an eyebrow at him. "What makes you think that's a TARDIS?"

"How do you know what a TARDIS is?"

A bullet ricocheted off a flagpole past Ianto's ear. Susan replied, quite sensibly, "I don't think now's a good time for that question." She grabbed his shirt and lifted him up. As they stood, she threw the poker at the agents. Their next volley of shots set the air ablaze with blue lightning as the bullets struck what seemed to be a force field in the immediate vicinity of the poker. It then emitted a flat, cerulean shockwave that froze the room once more, and they dodged past the men into the hallway.

The woman snapped her fingers and the world darkened, the objects and air around them seeming tinged with hints of violet as they alone stood as solid objects amidst a pale, faded environment. "We should be far enough to be free of the effects of the TARDIS," she explained.

"What did you do back there? Was that Time Lord technology?"

"Your friend Toshiko asked that when we first met as well, or perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that when we _will_ first meet, she asks that." The woman extended her hand, though Ianto got the sense that the action was more a formality than a gesture of good will. "Ianto Jones, my name is Susan Sto Helit, and I'm from your future."

Ianto considered this. Deep down, he felt rather startled, but upon further consideration, he decided the revelation was well within the boundaries of his job description, so he just nodded and said, "I see."

"You look different with the sideburns."

His jaw dropped. "I lose my sideburns?" he exclaimed. "But I like my sideburns! What happens to my sideburns?"

"I'm afraid telling you could cause the space-time continuum to collapse, or some such similar nonsense. I personally think Lobsang and the Doctor just enjoy spouting technobabble, like that silliness about the polarity of the neutron flow. I mean, neutrons have no charge, so where does their polarity come from? It's ridiculous even by Discworld standards."

"So he's lying?"

"No." Susan frowned. "The flow really does have a polarity."

Uttered by anyone else, this admission would have caused the speaker to appear a lunatic. Susan had an air of sensibility, however, that caused all her statements to make the universe seem absurd instead. Indeed, Ianto got the sense that she was a long-suffering soul forced to put up with the idiosyncrasies of everyone and everything else in a way a schoolteacher might put up with a particularly stupid grade-schooler who slobbered when confronted with pencil and paper and drew when presented with food.

"So if it's all rubbish, you can tell me," Ianto said, just a little desperately.

"No. It _might_ not be rubbish, and I'm not risking the stability of the universe for the sake of your sideburns. Now hurry up; time isn't going to wait for us forever."

**--**

_In real life, people cannot just disappear in one place and reappear in another,_ Wilson told himself, trying to collect his thoughts. The idea that he was hallucinating occurred to him, but he preferred not to consider the implications. _It's impossible. Right?_ Well, if anyone would know, it'd be the materializing man himself, who was standing patiently in front of him, waiting for a response. Wilson decided to ask him.

"Err, I realize this may seem like an odd question, but you didn't just sort of... I don't know, materialize in front of me there, did you? Out of thin air?" Wilson said, thoroughly perplexed with himself. Some of the events of the last few hours flashed in front of his eyes and he began to wonder if the whole day had been just a dream. Aside from an obnoxiously surreal plot line, it didn't feel like a dream. Then again, maybe House had spiked the coffee machine out of sheer malice.

"Of course I didn't, Doctor. That's impossible," the man--Mr. Bilis Manger--said calmly. Wilson was pretty sure he had but didn't press the matter for fear of being proven wrong; he didn't like the idea that he might be genuinely crazy. The two men stood for a few more moments in silence. Mr. Manger cleared his throat and gave him a pointed look. Wilson coughed, remembering his manners. He fought down his panic and confusion, popped a few more pills, and decided to examine his psyche later when he was alone.

"Right, sorry, who did you say you needed to find?" he asked, and wondered if it was after visitation hours yet. 

"Ms. Gwen Cooper, please." _Go figure._ Outside the window, the sun was slowly starting to set. 

"I think she's down one floor. I'll take you there." Wilson led the way to the staircase, down one flight, and through a few corridors lined with patient rooms. Cuddy was saying something over the intercom, but Wilson's mind blocked it out, possibly in an attempt to prevent any further damage. He vaguely noted he was walking very stiffly but couldn't bring himself to make the effort to relax.

He led the skinny old man to room 232, which he was pretty sure was Gwen's room. At least he wasn't receiving any comments about the state of his buttocks... 

"This should be it," Wilson said, knocking lightly on the door. There was no response, so he quietly opened the door and glanced inside, assuming that the young girl must have been sleeping. He took a step back as he saw the room ransacked and the bed and patient both missing.

"Hello? Excuse me, Ms. Cooper?" he called, stepping inside and looking around to make sure Gwen hadn't decided to redecorate in some sort of fit. Mr. Manger followed him in and looked at Wilson expectantly, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Wilson shrugged. "I guess she's not here. House must've taken her somewhere? Or something. It's probably after visiting hours, anyway. If you come back tomorrow, I'm sure you'll be able to see her." The old man gave him a tight smile, but before he got a chance to say anything, three burly men wearing uniforms and carrying guns burst into the room. Wilson, badly startled, leapt back, did a double-take to avoid the bed, realized the bed wasn't there, tripped over his own shoe, and fell over backwards behind a recliner, barely avoiding landing on his head.

Shaken, Wilson pulled himself up. He'd barely managed to focus his vision when he saw Mr. Manger give the three uniformed men a strange smile, then vanish. All three looked as confused as Wilson felt, and he noted this with relief, because if others had seen the same thing, he couldn't be crazy. Then one of the intruders focused on him and he ducked behind the recliner again.

Unfortunately, he hadn't ducked fast enough, and a large, blonde man with an unpleasant expression hauled him up from the floor by the arm.

"Ouch! Hey! Watch it!" Wilson shouted at them. "What's going on?"

The men didn't answer, but instead twisted his arms behind his back, threw handcuffs on him, and led him out the door and back into the hallway. 

"Dammit, where are you taking me? You can't do this! It's against the law! I haven't done anything!" Wilson struggled, but there was no escaping. 

_Well doesn't that just beat all,_ he thought as he was led forcibly to the elevator.

**--**

House swore, putting as much feeling into it as he could muster, as Gwen lay spasming on the floor where she'd fallen. Rolling his eyes and cursing one more time, he knelt gingerly and began performing CPR. In between breaths, he yelled up the stairs.

"GODDAMMIT WOULD SOMEONE COMPETENT PLEASE COME DOWN HERE AND HELP SO I DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS MYSELF? IT'S REALLY ANNOYING."

Understandably, considering he was in the morgue, no one heard him. Several minutes later, the worst of the heart attack was past and Gwen was unconscious but breathing normally again, with a faint pulse. She needed to be connected to oxygen, though, and House wanted to run some tests. 

He stared down at Gwen, wondering how the hell he was going to get her up the stairs. Eventually he braced himself, put most of his weight on his good leg, and through a series of acrobatic movements, lifted Gwen over his shoulders. Luckily, she didn't weigh much. He dumped her back onto the gurney. Her arm flopped over the side and swung back and forth with the motion of the cart like a dying fish. Her legs jutted out over the other edge, making it difficult to maneuver the cart without some part of her body hitting a wall. Without regard for her comfort, House pressed on, wheeling the cart towards the elevator. 

The doors dinged open on the ground floor to reveal the clinic. The lobby was chaos, with papers strewn all over the ground, soldiers stationed at the doors, and patients crowded around the receptionist making noises about lawsuits. A few good nurses were trying with varied success to pull out some order, but their attempts seemed to result in more screaming. House surveyed the scene, then pushed the gurney out into the middle of the floor, put on his most intimidating face, and shouted.

"Everyone SHUT UP and listen!" Everyone froze. House felt oddly proud. "This woman just had a heart attack. She needs to be hooked up to an IV and some oxygen, and I need someone reasonably intelligent to get her a CT Scan and an echocardiogram and report back to me when they're done. Got it? Good. Now, does anyone know where my minions are? I need to fire them."

No one moved. A nurse coughed. House raised an eyebrow.

"_Well_?" he added expectantly. That did the trick. The silence was broken. A few nurses and a young man who was probably a resident walked up and wheeled Gwen away, and everyone else went back to what they'd been doing before, only in a slightly more subdued and less chaotic manner. 

House grinned to himself and found a nice chair in the lobby to sit and take a nap in.

**--**

"So what's next?" Monty asked. Two hours later, their search hadn't yielded a single artifact or hint of alien involvement. Though the governor's office was now off-limits due to the presumably still rampaging lamp, they'd searched through all the documents in every filing cabinet on the floor, aided by Tosh's rapid scan device, which could convert any written document into an electronic file in a matter of seconds.

"Back to your office," Tosh replied. He nodded and headed off without waiting for her to follow, and she grimaced. _He wasn't this eager to go there earlier._ In fact, he'd briefly protested when she suggested going through his files, asking if she didn't trust him. He hadn't held back once they'd arrived, but that didn't mean there wasn't a secret place where he hid documents he didn't want people to see. Tosh had her own secret stash behind a panel under the stairs in the Hub, and no one would guess it was there if she didn't show it to them.

While Monty had a room to himself--a fact which made Tosh a little jealous--it was small, with just enough space for a desk and a bookshelf and filing cabinet in one corner, a small potted plant in another. At her behest, he booted up his computer and logged on.

"There's security protocols in place," he said, as Tosh began trying to hack into the other computers. "You can't get in; believe me, people have tried."

Tosh showed him her scanner and pressed it against the computer.

"It scans computers too?"

"You know, that almost makes it sound like all its functions have some fundamental link." Tosh looked thoughtful. "But yes, it'll hack into any database connected to this computer."

"Handy."

"It also unlocks doors and trims nose hair."

"Really…" Monty reached for it but jerked away when Tosh slapped his hand.

"It needs to stay in place until I'm done searching the files." She peered interestedly at his nose. "And then you can trim all you like."

"I was actually thinking about the secret storeroom the Governor keeps on the third floor," Monty said, sounding hurt.

Before she could reply--though she did manage to give him a wide-eyed "haha-I'm-joking" smile, which she suspected looked less like Puss in Boots and more like Cheshire Cat--her cell phone rang again.

"Ianto?" she said, seeing "Unknown Caller" displayed on the screen.

"Greetings! You've qualified to be entered into a drawing for an iPhone!"

Tosh hung up. The phone rang again.

"Sorry about that; bad interference here," Ianto's voice said when she took the call. "Ow! Stop poking me!"

"I'm not poking you!" a woman's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Look, no poker."

"What's going on?" Tosh demanded, switching on the speakerphone.

"I'm in the White House basement. Listen closely, 'cause there's no time to repeat anything."

"Monty has a tape recorder; can I record this?"

"Yes, yes, _ow_! If you're not poking me, who is?"

"How should I know?"

Monty clicked the recorder on and Tosh hurriedly interrupted: "Go on."

"There's a Time Lord called the Master in league with the aliens who's apparently promised BRAIN technology--you know what that is, from your time with UNIT, correct?" he added and continued without waiting for her to reply. "--it's been promised to prominent political leaders in the US government in exchange for their cooperation. The promise is obviously a lie, but they don't know that. The President has either been deposed and is being used as a pawn, or he's in on the conspiracy as well. I've met a woman from a planet shaped like a disc that travels through space on the backs of four elephants standing on a giant turtle, and her name is Susan Sto Helit and she's the granddaughter of their planet's anthropomorphic personification of Death, who exists in the form of a robed skeleton with a scythe and sword. Oh, and she's from the future." At this point, he paused, then said, somewhat sullenly, "when I no longer have sideburns."

Sensing he needed a prompt to continue, Tosh said, "Okay..."

"Since the aliens can alter human perception to make us see whatever they want us to see, they can kill and replace prominent politicians. The federal government is safe because Susan says they don't want to interfere too much. On the state level, however..."

"Oh my god!" Monty exclaimed.

"Yes," Ianto said. "You may be working for an alien."

"That's too cool!"

Ianto sighed. "One last thing; we've found a document instructing officials to keep all items and memos pertaining to the aliens in their own homes so as to avoid attracting suspicion at work; obviously, they're not too strict about this order, but if you're not having any luck in the office, you might want to search the Governor's Mansion."

"That's in Princeton," Monty added.

"How convenient," Tosh said, feeling a shiver of foreboding and a rush of adrenaline at this news.

"But there's this secret room on the third floor where the Governor goes when he thinks no one's looking, and he's the only one who has access," Monty said. "Maybe there's something in there."

"Actually, that's where he keeps a secret stash of Belgian chocolates," Susan said, her voice muffled as she sounded like she was chewing on something sticky. Tosh knew that Ianto would be giving her an incredulous look at that moment, and probably doing something funny with his eyebrows, too, and sure enough, Susan said, "Look, I just happened to run across it while I was searching for you, and some of the boxes were close to their expiration date, and I thought, _Well wouldn't that be a waste if they went uneaten?_"

"So the governor's human?" Monty asked, looking crestfallen.

"Who told you only humans like chocolate?" Susan snapped. "Everyone likes chocolate. Every bloody sentient being in the universe, and they're always trying to steal it from you! _Ow!_"

"Did you get poked too?"

"Yes!"

"Have either of you thought about turning around right now?" Tosh asked.

"Can't: we're in a broom closet."

"Maybe it's brooms falling against you?"

"Do brooms reach into your pockets to take away pieces of chocolate?" Susan asked pointedly.

Tosh had to admit that no, most brooms did not possess kleptomaniacal tendencies. Monty looked ready to faint.

"Right, something's groping my buttocks now, and since Jack's not with us, I really need to go!" Ianto hung up.

Monty continued staring at the phone in horror, and Tosh began to worry about the man's extensive imagination. She reached into his pockets and took out his car keys. He didn't respond. She slapped his buttock, and he jumped into the air, yelping. "What was that for?" he said in a high-pitched voice as he rubbed his backside.

Tosh waggled the keys in front of his face. "Fancy a drive?"

**--**

Lisa Cuddy was getting more and more frustrated. General Posey may have been a bit of a horny creep, but he _was_ a general and he hadn't gotten that far by being a complete idiot. Additionally, Cuddy's little stripping act hadn't gotten very far, due to her unwillingness to reveal anything real. She had yet to divest any major article of clothing, and that was irritating the man, who wasn't very patient to begin with. An extended lack of any actual breasts was unfortunately bringing him back to his senses, and Cuddy could see the exact moment when he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. His eyes cleared and he gave her a very distinct frown that wrinkled his face most unpleasantly.

"All right, Doctor Cuddy, that's quite enough. I need you to cooperate in finding these individuals," he said gruffly. Cuddy surreptitiously slipped the portable intercom mic back into its holster at her waist and hoped she'd bought House enough time to escape. 

"I'm afraid I don't know where any of them are," she told him, and gave him a flirtatious wink just in case. He gave her a glare that told her quite plainly he didn't believe her for a moment.

"Doctor Cuddy, if you don't cooperate, I'm afraid we'll have to take action against you."

She thought desperately, rapidly going over half-formed ideas, but nothing that had a remote chance of helping came to her. She sighed and straightened up, pulling her blouse back over her shoulder and smoothing down her clothes. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you. That's final."

Posey growled at her and took a menacing step forward. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by another voice. 

"General, we've located several of the people on the list and have them held securely, but we still haven't found House. What's the situation up here?" A man was walking down the hallway towards them. He stopped abruptly when he reached them and gave her a cursory glance. "Hello Doctor, I'm Colonel Pistachio Smythe." She nodded and he relocated his attention.

"Colonel. I have been unable to get any information out of her. She's the Dean of Medicine here, but she claims not to know anything. I definitely believe otherwise."

"Yes, sir. It would be very wise to cooperate with the National Guard, Doctor," he directed the last part at her. She shrugged.

"We haven't done anything wrong. You can't take anyone without first telling them their charges," she said, drawing herself up and trying to look imposing. 

It didn't work, because right then she finally _looked_ at this new man, Colonel Smythe, and took in his appearance. He was extremely tall, but not like a normal person is tall. He was tall like a giraffe is tall. His head towered over her and he looked down at her through slightly squinty eyes, but his actual torso and legs were only a little taller than average. His neck was abnormally long, and his head was strangely squished so it was far longer than it was wide, with his facial features all looking a little crammed in, as if otherwise they wouldn't fit. His eyes were too close together, his mouth was thin, and his nose was very long and pointed. His eyebrows were so thin and shapely that they looked like a woman's, but on his face they seemed out of place and menacing. On the very top of his head he had a short shock of black hair streaked with the beginnings of grey that was mostly covered by an army cap. His neck seemed to stretch on forever, although she thought it must have been mostly an optical illusion brought on by his ridiculously skinny torso and bizarrely-shaped head. She guessed he was well over six and a half feet tall--probably closing in on seven feet. 

He wasn't built or muscled like most of the army minions were, and he wasn't slightly chubby like most of the officers, including General Posey, were. He wasn't exactly wiry or skinny either, though. He was definitely built like a man, not a teenager. He looked as though someone had taken a normal-sized man and stuck him in one of those medieval torture devices that had just stretched him out. 

It might have been comical, but on this man, it was frightening.

Instead of responding to her statement, Colonel Smythe gave her a vaguely amused look, then turned back to his superior officer.

"Might I suggest, sir," he said, "that we simply put her somewhere out of the way for the time being?" The General didn't look too pleased by this suggestion.

"I suspect I could get something more out of her, Colonel, if--" 

"I believe my suggestion would be much more appropriate, sir," Smythe interrupted pointedly. Posey looked a little shaken, and worried his hands as he tried to gain some ground.

"But--"

"Sir," Smythe said, with a little more force. Cuddy could see Posey wilt under the pressure of the man's intense glare.

"Oh, all right then. Lock her in her office for now. We'll question her later," he said irritably. 

"Yes, sir," Smythe said, and grabbed Cuddy's arm.

"What?! You can't do this! It's against the law!" Cuddy protested. She tried to fight, digging her fingernails into the man's arm, but he didn't even flinch.

"Sorry, Doctor, I'm under orders from a superior officer." With that, he flung her into her office and slammed the door. She heard the sound of the lock being jammed and ran up to grab the doorknob. Sure enough, it wouldn't turn. She slumped to the floor with her back against the door and ran her fingers through her hair. 

"What would House do?" she asked herself, barely able to believe her situation.

Outside, the last few rays of daylight slipped below the horizon and night fell upon Princeton-Plainsboro.

**--**

"What the fuck?!" Cameron shouted upon finding herself jammed into a tiny dark space in between someone's back and a wall. 

"Ha, serves you right!" the person she was pressed against shouted back. 

"...Owen?" she asked, surprised.

"Yeah, this would be so much better if you weren't Chase right now," Owen sighed. 

"Oh god," came Foreman's voice from the other side of Owen. "That didn't stop you before."

Cameron tried to slap Owen but the action was aborted by the lack of space. It was stiflingly hot and stuffy in what she now knew was the trunk of the rental, and the air that was there didn't smell too great. Not to mention it was cramped as hell, and pitch black to boot. The trunk must've been closed again, she noted. The rental was a minivan, and as such the trunk was large enough to accommodate a lot of luggage, but it definitely couldn't comfortably accommodate three people. _Four people_, she corrected herself as she heard someone groan on the far end, behind Foreman. 

"It's Chase. Or, Chase as you," Foreman answered her unspoken question. "He's a little out of it."

"Foreman, you lucky bastard. It must be amazing to have tits like that pressed against your back," Owen grumbled. Instinctively, Cameron tried to punch him, but once again all she could do was jerk weakly.

"How the hell did we get here?" she asked, trying to find some answers in lieu of beating someone up. 

"We, uh, actually don't know," Foreman said, sounding embarrassed. 

"How can you not know? You were here!"

"Yeah, but, well, I don't know how to explain it, but one second you weren't here and the next you were, with no in between time," Foreman tried to explain. Owen made a gesture that might have been a shrug.

"So we just... appeared here?"

"Well, no. Not really. You just weren't, then you were."

"I don't get it."

"I told you, it's hard to explain. I don't understand it myself." There was silence for a moment. Cameron nudged Owen.

"What? Don't look at me! When Foreman showed up, I was asleep so I have no idea what happened there! And I don't know what happened with you two any better than he does," Owen protested. Cameron sighed.

"The air in here is disgusting," she noted wryly.

"Yeah, just be thankful there _is_ air," Owen grouched. 

"How is that, anyway?" Cameron wondered.

"Dunno," said Owen and Foreman at the same time.

"What's going on?" asked Chase groggily from the other side of the car.

"You got me kidnapped, that's what! What if they'd killed you? I'd have been stuck with a dick forever!" Cameron wasn't in the mood to be rational.

"Looks like you didn't do any better yourself!" Chase shot back, then paused. "Where the hell are we?"

"A trunk," Foreman supplied. There was a pause.

"Well, shit," Chase said.

"What I want to know," Owen said slowly, like he was trying to figure something out, "is why we're here? I mean, if these aliens had wanted to kill us it would've been easy, right? But instead they stuck us in here. Why?" The four of them mulled that over for a bit. Cameron's anger subsided and she could feel the beginnings of panic. She did her best to quash them and consider the problem at hand.

"Well, obviously they're holding us for something. Like a prison cell," Foreman said.

"Yeah, sure, but why _here_? Obviously they've got pretty advanced technology. Why not just transport us to a real prison on their home planet or something?" Owen asked.

"This place seems to work well enough," Cameron said dryly. 

"Maybe they're keeping us here just until they can take us somewhere else nearby? And they don't want to waste resources by taking us farther than they have to," Chase mused.

"That's probably the first intelligent thing you've said all day," Cameron quipped. 

"Dammit, Cameron, if you're not going to be helpful, just shut up," Foreman snapped. Cameron huffed, but fell silent. Her back was beginning to cramp, and so was her left foot. She tried to adjust, to no avail. There just wasn't any space.

"That seems plausible," Owen added, ignoring the bickering. "So then, where nearby are they taking us that isn't ready yet?"

"What I want to know," Cameron spoke up again, "is why did they kidnap me, Foreman, and Chase? I mean, you're a member of some kind of secret alien-catching organization or something so I get that, but what do we have to do with anything?"

"We don't catch aliens!" Owen protested. He was ignored.

"I'd like to know the answer to that too," Foreman added. "We were essentially innocent bystanders. Why go through the trouble of kidnapping us and locking us in here?"

"I'm hungry," Owen said. 

"There's an energy bar in Chase's left pocket, but good luck reaching it," Cameron said. Then she realized this was a bad thing to say as Owen began reaching over and his weight began bearing down upon some uncomfortable portions of her anatomy. She slapped him. "Never mind, I'm sure he's eaten it by now."

"Damn."

"Can we get back on-topic?" Chase pleaded. There was a soft shuffling sound as he tried to remove the bar from his pocket without anyone else hearing.

"Hey!" Owen yelled, causing Cameron to wince away in an attempt to save her ear drums.

"Hey!" Chase echoed as Foreman snatched the bar from him, ripped the wrapper, and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth in one bite.

"You're disgusting," Cameron told him.

"Ermfphlgurlgprt," he replied. Cameron glared. He swallowed but failed to choke, proving her glare had no killing properties. He ignored her and looked over at Owen. "Yes, what have you and your friends involved us in?" He demanded. "Are we here by association or is there some other reason? Or is it because we were treating Gwen, and she's with you?"

"Look, I don't know any better than you guys do, okay?" Owen finally responded, sounding cross. "I've been in here _all day_. Do you think I've been kept up-to-date on the situation at all? Well, I haven't! And I didn't know hardly anything going into this! Our mission was just to find some sort of alien device that had fallen through the Rift and ended up here. There were some strange circumstances, but it was a fairly routine mission. None of us planned for Gwen to get sick, we didn't plan to involve you, and I sure as hell didn't plan to get stuck in a trunk! So lay off!"

"Jesus, fine, chill out!" Chase said. 

"You still probably know more about this than us, though. Isn't there anything you can tell us that might help?" Foreman asked. Owen sighed.

"I doubt it. Oh, no wait--Cameron, you said the car was on the top floor?" Cameron nodded. When she realized he couldn't see her, she answered with an affirmative. "Right, if I know anything about transmatting--and I actually don't, really, that's Tosh's area--then we're here for easier access. I know Tosh didn't park all the way up here, so they must've moved us to the top for easier access."

"Great. That's wonderful to know. And how exactly does that help us at all?" Cameron asked, annoyed.

"I don't know! I thought you might appreciate any sort of information!" Owen retorted.

"Actually, even if that sounds mostly like speculation, it is nice to know. It may not necessarily help, but I feel better knowing as much as possible about the situation," Foreman reasoned.

"Fine," Cameron said petulantly. She considered pouting, but decided no one would be able to see her and she didn't want to waste the energy. 

For several long, uncomfortable minutes, silence reigned. Then Owen groaned loudly.

"God, I've got to pee so bad..." he informed everyone.

"Don't you fucking dare!" yelled Cameron, Chase, and Foreman in alarm, as they tried to scoot back as far away from Owen as possible.

**--**

House's break was not as long or as restful as he'd hoped. In fact, he'd just begun to get comfortable when two nurses came up to him.

"Dr. House," the first said, then feeling this was sufficient input on her part, backed away and nudged the other forward a few steps.

The other was clearly bolder than the other. House would have to remember to break her spirit when the time allowed. She stiffened when he gazed pointedly at her breasts, which were on the same level as his eyes, and said, "Given the effectiveness of your exercise of authority earlier, we feel you should put your talents to use in an emergency situation, especially since you are a senior member of the staff and a veteran department head."

House sighed. "You want me to do Clinic duty, don't you? Well, fat chance. You have to be at least a D-cup to get me to do what you want."

"But Dr. Cuddy's not a--" the first nurse piped up before squeaking and clapping both hands over her mouth. House smirked at her.

"I have a bull whip in the closet," the second nurse said sweetly, rolling up her sleeves to reveal heavily muscled arms.

"Then that's clearly not the only thing in the closet," House said, then jumped up as she made to grab his neck. "All right, all right, I'll do it, but only because I'm a responsible staff member." _After all_, he thought, _the hospital's under lockdown; how many patients could there be?_

As it turned out, a giant rift in the space-time continuum existed in the middle of the clinic and disgorged an unending number of patients whose intelligence quotient had an inverse relationship with the number of people sent through.

"I have a cold!" someone said, grabbing his sleeve before he had a chance to take three steps.

"Good, then you're diagnosed, shoo."

"But-- aaaarrgh!" the man said as another patient shoved him out of the way and presented her arms.

"I'm breaking out in rashes! I think I have Gulf War Syndrome!"

"Gulf War Syndrome doesn't exist, and even if it did, you can't catch it from a soldier."

"Then you admit there's a possibility it exists?"

House eyed her cautiously. "Are you a lawyer?"

"How does that matter in any way?"

"This hospital's under martial law. Get out of the way before I have someone shoot you for willfully interfering in urgent medical affairs."

"But I'm dying!" she shrieked.

"You're a hypochondriac. My suggestion is to smoke marijuana; it'll calm you down and make you forget all your troubles. 'Don't worry, be happy.'"

"That's illegal!" she protested.

"Find a loophole and sue somebody."

"You're counting on Dr. Cuddy to be so distracted she won't hear about your behavior, aren't you?" someone said to him in an a grating, cheerful tone. He glanced over to see Tracy. House grabbed her arm, and dragged her behind him as he headed for the clinic room where the nurses had taken Gwen.

"Everyone out!" House roared as he entered the room. "I'm trying to work and save a life!" Then he saw a nurse holding two paddles over Gwen's chest. "Oh, very well, carry on."

"Clear!"

Gwen's body jerked as the charge of electricity raced through her. The EKG began registering a heart beat again, and there was a collective sigh of relief.

House nodded. "I don't suppose anyone managed to perform the tests I requested?"

"She had a heart attack, Dr. House!" one of the nurses protested, but another laid a hand on his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. He glared at House and left the room, followed by the rest of the team.

"I'll take that as a 'no'!" House yelled as the door closed. He snapped his fingers and surprisingly, Tracy wheeled the equipment up and began prepping Gwen.

"You didn't happen to go to medical school and decide nursing was more fun, did you?" he asked.

"Actually, I did," she said. "UCSF Class of '02 with a residency at Ann Arbor, but then I moved here to tend to my dying grandfather, and I needed more flexible hours than an MD would have."

House blinked and tried not to be worried by his momentary speechlessness. "So you just sort of act cheery and stupid?"

"Yep!"

"Why?"

"It seemed fun at the time."

More speechlessness. More worry. "Is there any chance you'd try to jump me if I hired you?"

Tracy slapped him, then handed him the ultrasound probe.

"Very appropriate balance of work and personal life," House nodded. "I approve."

**--**

Ianto threw the closet door open without stopping to listen for people outside, and he and Susan tumbled out together. Something roared from the recesses of the closet, and then an alien of the same species as the ones that attacked the hospital tumbled out after him.

"There was an alien in the closet and you didn't notice?" Ianto exclaimed, as Susan had been the one to choose their hiding place while he made the call.

"Of course I noticed."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"You didn't ask."

"I said 'Is it safe!'"

"And I said it was. I'd beaten the alien up with my poker. You even saw me throw the poker away because it was bent."

"That's ridiculous!"

"You have a hole in your pants." Susan pointed, and Ianto noticed his trousers were feeling breezier than usual. It was more of a large gash, as the alien had maintained a rather firm grip on Ianto's pants as he'd charged out of the closet, but the main point--that of his pants being ruined beyond repair--was understood.

"I don't have a change of clothes!" Ianto said.

"I don't remember you being nearly this fussy," Susan said. "Don't worry; I'll go get you a pair."

"Where?"

Susan retrieved her bent poker and exited into the adjacent room, which Ianto realized contained a stairwell leading to a meeting room. There was a loud scream and a number of clangs and crashes, and then Susan returned with a pair of pants.

"Don't worry," Susan said, tossing the poker away once more. "I stole it from the Vice-president's aide, and we all know he's an ass. Anyway, I hear most politicians stole pants from each other back when they were in university; for men who condemn sex outside of marriage, they seem awfully obsessed with getting each other naked."

Ianto shrugged and changed. Susan looked away, and by the time he was done, she was gazing intently at a photograph in her hand.

"We should try to interrogate it," Ianto said, indicating the once-again unconscious alien drooling on the floor.

"No time." Susan shook her head, then gave Ianto the photograph. "I saw this man earlier when time was frozen. You need to follow him."

"Why?" Ianto asked.

"No clue. You give me the photograph in the future and tell me to give it to you when I see you in the past so you can follow him so you can find something out that you can't tell me about for me to tell you and then you can tell me in the future to give this photograph to you."

"What?"

"Oh, you'll figure out what to do; you already have. Or at least, that's what the Doctor said."

"No wonder Queen Victoria wanted him arrested," Ianto muttered.

**--**

Gwen's heart was riddled with tumors.

"What the hell?" House said.

"They're called tumors," Tracy replied.

"They're also career-enders."

"That's mean! I realize she's probably going to die with that many problems with her heart, but..."

"I don't mean for her," House growled. "Chase and Cameron are getting fired."

"Wouldn't that be discrimination? I suppose their switching genders comes as a major shock to you, but--"

"I had them do an echo earlier, and they reported nothing wrong with the heart."

"What if they were right?"

"Tumors don't appear that fast." But House paused to ponder this possibility; he wouldn't have accepted this case if it had been a run-of-the-mill stroke, though he had to admit he hadn't anticipated aliens showing up. He tapped the probe a few times, causing the ultrasound to make a lot of cool new noises that might have belonged in a _Star Wars_ movie. "I need that CT now. Damn, do you have any idea how hard it's going to be thinking of a new way of getting past three hundred soldiers with an unconscious patient?"

Tracy opened the door and peered out. "You can't; they're coming for you."

House joined her at the door. "Damn!" he said, as he saw the lawyer from earlier gesticulating in his direction. "Damn, damn, damn," and then he raised his voice and yelled, "I'll see you in court!"

She responded by raising both her middle fingers at him. House stuck out his tongue before dodging back into the room as the soldiers began charging for him. He locked it but didn't think that'd keep them out for long. He glanced at Tracy, but she was looking at him as though she expected him to teleport them out.

"I'm out of ideas!" he said.

"You have to do something!"

The hinges rattled as the door buckled. House shrugged. "Maybe I'll wake up and find out this was all a dream!"

"_This isn't a dream!_" Tracy screamed.

"Women." House rolled his eyes. "You're all so panicky and overwrought... and... that gives me an idea."

"Yeah, it'd better have," Tracy said, balling her hands up and showing him her fists.

"All right, quickly," House said, pulling a permanent marker out of his pocket. For lack of a better surface, he began writing on the wall. "We're doing a differential."

"_Now?_'

"_Just do it!_ She came in with a stroke, but there was nothing wrong with her brain. There was also nothing wrong with the heart, but then she had a heart attack, and now there's tumors all over it. She has an angioma in her retina, and also no color vision, but that's more likely because of the stroke." House drew an area linking "no color vision" with "stroke." "Now, we thought hypertension as a cause of the stroke was too easy a diagnosis, but what if it's true? What if stress did cause her hypertension, but we're not looking at the right type of stress?" He drew a circle around it, then another arrow to a blank spot on the wall. The door rumbled once more, and a piece of the frame splintered off. "So what we don't know is what's causing the tumors and what's causing her mood swings." Two more arrows to the same empty space. "Tumors, mood swings, panic attacks, and stress, all from the same cause. Go!"

"Uh, could be hyperparathyroidism, the tumors might be calcium deposits."

"No elevated calcium levels, no nausea, and all digestive functions are normal."

Tracy flinched as one of the hinges ripped loose and ricocheted across the room. "Overactive renin-angiotensin system!"

"No good; I liked your tighter focus on the endocrine system." House snapped his fingers. "I got it! Pheochromocytoma! Tumor on the adrenal medulla, causes the gland to release excessive amounts of catecholamines such as adrenaline and noradrenaline. On the surface, it looks like a panic attack, but it causes the same complications as someone living a high-stress lifestyle for long periods of time and is caused by a tumor, which her body seems to be riddled with!"

"How does this help?" Tracy screamed. The door exploded inwards and soldiers rushed into the room, guns raised.

"Freeze!" their captain said, aiming at House's chest.

House raised both his hands but maintained a grip on the cane with his right. Then he looked at Tracy. "It helps because there's one convenient way to confirm my diagnosis, and it's by doing _this_!" In one swift motion, he swung the cane in an arc and brought it down on Gwen's abdomen. It snapped in half with a loud crack.

Her eyes shot open and her body spasmed. Gasping wildly, she wheezed, "What's happening?" The captain swung around to point his gun at Gwen, but she swept it from his hands, picked him up, and threw him through the doorway.

"Funny thing about pheochromocytomas," House said conversationally as Gwen proceeded to lay into the rest of the soldiers before they had a chance to aim and fire. "If you poke them, they tend to release a surge of catecholamines."

"She'll get another heart attack," Tracy said, but the reprimand was rather toothless given her awed tone.

"That's why we have a crash cart ready." House tapped Gwen on the shoulder and winced back when she rounded on him, ready to attack. "Whoa, whoa, no harm intended." He held up his broken cane.

"Did you hit me with that?" Gwen said.

"What? This old thing? No, why would I do that? This way, please." House motioned at the door. Gwen growled and stormed through into the clinic.

Outside, everyone was gathered in silence around the desk, where the captain had landed, smashing a computer and a chair. He moaned and was about to get up when he caught sight of Gwen and thought better of appearing to recover. House waved at the lawyer who ducked out of sight.

"Those who don't behave get the same treatment," House announced. "Now _sit!_"

Everyone sat. Most didn't even bother looking for a chair and just plopped down on the floor; they were too worried about appearing conspicuous.

"I feel dizzy," Gwen said, then fainted. House checked her pulse.

"Still beating," he told Tracy. Unfortunately, she realized there was a catch, so he added, "but she's going to need surgery to remove the tumor."

"Pheochromocytoma removals only occur at highly-specialized treatment centers, and for good reason!"

"Right, well we've got one operating room, and two doctors, neither of whom are surgeons."

"Can't it wait? You said yourself there's no explanation for the tumors yet!"

"But her heart can't take any more shocks; if there's another adrenaline release, we might not be able to bring her back."

"You should have thought about that before you hit her!"

"You think being shipped off to Guantanomo would be any better for her health? Besides, I don't look good in orange. Shall we get started?"

**--**

"There, that's him!" Susan pointed. They were now in a parking lot outside of the White House, and though Ianto did not dispute that the person in question matched the one in the photograph, he saw no way they could follow him if he drove off. He said as much, and Susan looked at him with a gleam in her eye. He sighed.

"Do I really have to?" he said.

Susan nodded.

"I hear from my colleague that it's a very uncomfortable situation."

"Nonsense, all we have to do is fix it so that you pull a latch and the trunk opens by itself." Around them, time slowed down once more so that everything took on a purplish hue, and Susan led him to the car. She pressed her hand against the trunk, and it regained its natural color and swung open.

Ianto considered protesting one more time, but Susan was nothing if not sensible, and if this was the best idea she could come up with, she wasn't about to give anyone else the chance to propose something better. He climbed in.

"Don't worry," she said. "You'll thank me when you next see me."

"Will I?"

"Oh yes, definitely. It already happened." And then, with a jarring thunk, the world went dark. Ianto glanced at his watch and saw time was happily proceeding on its own once more. There was nothing more to do but wait.

**--**

Nightfall. The moon was making its slow ascent into a navy blue sky, faded behind wisps of clouds like a spotlight on stormy seas. Cuddy felt equally stranded, locked in her own office with nothing to do and no news to tell her where her colleagues were or what was happening in this suddenly topsy-turvy world. She could only assume House had made good on his escape as no one was back for her yet. Since Chase, Cameron, and Wilson had all been on the wanted list--Foreman's absence and the manhole incident confirmed the National Guard was working for the aliens--they were searching for anyone associated with House. Once they realized that she was close to House as well, they would come for her; she didn't trust House to keep his mouth shut, not when he could spread the misery and sow sufficient chaos to help himself escape.

A scrabbling attracted her attention, and she turned from the windows to see a man's silhouette on the other side of the door. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw he wasn't tall enough to be Smythe, and sure enough, the door opened and Posey stepped in, muscles tense as though expecting an escape attempt. Cuddy sat in her chair and crossed her legs, doing her best to look serene.

"What can I do for you, General?" she asked, tightening her collar.

Posey blinked, as though briefly thrown off by her sudden change in behavior, but then he took a seat opposite her and smiled. With Smythe absent, he was all assurance and authority once more, and though Cuddy struggled to keep the meeker image of Posey in her mind, it fled before his immediate presence.

"So you haven't found them yet?" Cuddy said.

He frowned. "Tell us what you know. Dr. House is merely a person of interest to us; he is not our primary target. Once we interrogate him, he will be let free."

"I'm afraid it's a matter of principle, General." Cuddy placed her hands palms down on the table in front of her and couldn't help feeling that she was offering them to be cut off. "See, I don't know where you've been living the past few decades, but here in the United States, we have strange concepts with funny names like 'fundamental human rights' and 'due process,' and we don't take kindly to people who try to take them away from us, because we like our funny names, and as a doctor, I'm even more fond of them than your run-of-the-mill American. Therefore, I don't care if you plan to give him a million dollars or throw him a birthday party so long as an interrogation is part of the prerequisites."

"The terror threat level for your hospital has been raised to red and the governor has declared martial law. I'm afraid this is no longer America."

_How easily we fall._ Proselytizing was a lot less fun than movies made it out to be, so Cuddy decided to switch tacks.

"I've always thought the terror alert system was absurd. I mean, do we really need to use colors to label threat levels? And why _red_? Why not purple or aqua or maroon? Or silver with gold polka dots? I personally think shininess attracts people's attention a lot more than color charts, and it certainly makes them a lot less resentful about having to wait in long lines all day for the privilege of sitting in tiny seats on a small, shaky plane breathing recycled air for even longer periods of time."

Posey's eyes narrowed. "Nobody cares what you think, Dr. Cuddy."

"You just care about what I know. And my cup size."

Posey stood up, and Cuddy resisted the urge to wince back, but his attention wasn't on her. Instead, he peered out through the window. "Something moved out there."

_House?_ Cuddy stood and walked around the desk to stand before him. "Afraid of the dark?"

Posey refocused his eyes on her. She grinned and said, "A general, scared of his own reflection? I wouldn't expect anything else from someone who hides behind a red alert. The color's so campy, don't you think?"

She shut her eyes, waiting for him to strike her or do _something_ in retaliation. _Come on, House, if you've got something planned, now's the time._ But it wasn't House who answered.

"'Campy?' Has someone been talking about me?" A voice said, sounding muffled as though coming to them through a wall or, in this case, glass.

Cuddy whirled around and stared incredulously as Jack Harkness' head poked up past the window sill. She and Posey reacted at the same time, both grabbing for the general's gun as Jack raised a fist and punched through the window. The gun slipped from their grip and went sliding across the ground. Posey leapt for it, shoving Cuddy aside and sending her crashing into a bookcase. Jack arrived first, though, and without bothering to bend over to pick it up, he kicked a boot out almost lazily.

The tip of his toe connected with Posey's temple, sending him spinning and collapsing onto the floor like a rag doll. Jack then turned to Cuddy and grinned.

"I thought there was something wrong when I saw the hospital surrounded by policemen and soldiers, so I figured I'd pay you a visit and see what was going on."

"Where'd you go?" Cuddy gasped. Jack leapt over Posey to offer her a hand, and she took it, clambering out of the pile of books that had landed atop her.

"Washington DC, teleportation device, it's complicated." He winked. "All you need to know is I'm back."

"We're in trouble," Cuddy said, pushing her hair back out of her face.

"I see that. How's Gwen?"

"I'm not sure; hanging in there, last I heard."

Jack nodded. Behind him, Cuddy noticed Posey rubbing his head. She grabbed Jack's arm and tried to pull him aside. "Jack! Watch out!"

Jack whirled around, drawing his gun, but Posey reached his first and fired. Blood splattered everywhere as the bullet went straight through Jack's heart, and he crumpled.

"No!" Cuddy charged Posey who, dazed, was still focused on Jack. She tackled him, and they both went sliding across the floor. Posey slammed his fist into her face, and it hurt every bit as much as she'd expected it to. Stars in her eyes, she blinked and didn't seem able to move as Posey staggered back onto his feet and bore down on her. Then, amidst the blurring colors of her vision, she focused on something shiny. Her mind might have exhorted her accuracy at describing the human condition if her head didn't hurt so much. As it was, she merely realized she'd lost one of her shoes during the struggle and, guided by the innate attractiveness of something that was both shiny and footwear, she grabbed the high heel and swung it as Posey reached down to pick her up. The point of heel made contact with his throat and, having swung it harder than she realized, tore through skin and muscle.

_It feels like sticking a thermometer in a turkey,_ she thought as the man's weight fell upon her, and she was eye-to-eye with his wide and shocked gaze. Barely able to breathe and feeling as though a heel had gone through her own head as well, Cuddy could feel her consciousness slipping away. Her last thought was, _I hope House doesn't see me like this,_ and then she fainted.


	11. Chapter 7: God Does Not Play Dice

**Chapter 7**

**God Does Not Play Dice**

"Stop dropping her," House hissed as Tracy lost her grip on Gwen's shoulders for the fifth time.

"Yeah, well, most men leave the legs, _which are lighter_, for the woman to lift," Tracy retorted.

"Cripple," House said, rolling his eyes in the general direction of his leg.

Tracy grinned. "I have to admit, it was quite clever, breaking the cane to get rid of it." House was willing to admit he'd been quite pleased with himself as well, but that was no longer true, because Tracy had taken it upon herself to find him yet another replacement, and now he had a pink cane with _frills_ on the end and a sticker that read "World's Greatest Grandma" a third of the way down its length.

"Drop her again and I'm going to make you carry her on your back."

"Threaten me again and I'll put you in a walker," Tracy snapped back.

"Shut it, you two!"

They both froze, looking around for the unwelcome commentator, before they lowered their gaze to the person they were half-carrying and half-sweeping-the-floor-with. Gwen glared up at them. "In case you've forgotten," she snapped in an uncharacteristically vindictive way, "there are soldiers around." Well, the stroke might have turned her into a crazy bitch, House mused, but at least she remained perceptive.

"Why are you awake?" House snapped back, his mind racing with possible answers. "You're not supposed to be awake."

"Oh yeah, that helps a lot," Gwen replied, then gasped and grabbed at her chest. "Oh, my heart."

"Adrenaline surge," House muttered to himself, feeling disappointed. At the same time, the fact that it wasn't a mysterious new symptom supported his diagnosis. Nevertheless, it was a rather boring diagnosis, and while he _wanted_ to be searching for the cause of the pheochromocytoma, he needed Gwen alive to do so. As such, he had to put up with the tedious task of dealing with a live human being, who was rather...

"_Ow_!" Gwen's leg slammed into the corner of a wall as Tracy turned the corner while House kept going straight, causing her body to contort before slipping out of his grip.

"_Walker!_" Tracy said, looking ready to kill rather than maim.

"Oops." House picked her up again. They rounded the corner without further delay and found themselves outside an operating room. They were about to enter when Tracy stopped, causing another unfortunate contortion of Gwen's body structure as House neglected to synchronize with Tracy's movements. "Now what?"

"There's someone inside," Tracy replied. "I saw something move through the window."

House lowered Gwen's legs to the ground in as smooth a manner as he could manage and peered through. "Oh, it's Dr. Weinbacher. I phoned ahead for a surgeon because I'm already over my medical malpractice lawsuit budget this month, and while Cuddy's breasts do heave in a majestic manner when she's upset, I'm _really_ over the allotted amount. In fact, I think I've spent all of Wilson's too."

Tracy's mouth moved silently for a few seconds before they dropped wide open. "You called for a _plastic_ surgeon?"

"You don't suppose he could make my nose bigger, do you?" Gwen asked. "I've always wanted a bigger nose." Upon seeing House and Tracy's looks of surprise, she added, "I can pay."

"I think her brain's addled," Tracy said.

House feigned shock, putting on as horrified an expression as possible. "Think of her feelings!"

"I mean, she looks gorgeous right now, so she has to have a self-image problem," Tracy said, sounding so genuine that Gwen cooed and said: "Aww, thank you."

"Right, in you go," House said. "And no hugging while I'm not looking."

House's first impression was that the operating room had been prepared in a rushed manner. It wasn't that the tools weren't sanitized or laid out in a neat row, because most surgeons were meticulous enough about operating conditions that these preparations occurred as a matter of habit, rather like breathing, which no one ever forgot to do, except in short intervals of time followed by lengthy periods of catch-up. It also wasn't that anyone had forgotten to bring in a crash cart and all manners of medicine appropriate to every possible contingency except an alien exploding from Gwen's abdomen--though House now considered that a real possibility. Rather, the detail that gave away the urgency of their situation was the large puddles of blood splattered across the floor from the previous operation--which hadn't gone very well--and that no one had taken the time to mop up.

Weinbacher was not a man to be caught off-guard, however. In fact, House had demanded Cuddy hire him after finding out he'd once given a woman breast implants in the middle of a west Congo village amidst a Lassa fever outbreak during a guerilla attack by an insurgency known for flailing people alive. The fact that, once he returned to the States, he had gotten away with performing the surgery illegally only added to House's respect for him. In keeping with his can-do spirit, Weinbacher had brought along shoes with suction cups on the bottom, to allow them to keep their footing during the surgery. Some overenthusiastic intern had added his own little touch to the shoe's design and placed the manufacturer's little check mark logo on every single suction cup.

"Are you sure about this?" Tracy asked, eyeing Weinbacher as he kissed a little device that looked to be a liposuction vacuum and whispered to it: "Wish me luck, honey."

"Oh absolutely," House said, dragging her along to scrub in. As they passed the surgeon, he picked up two pairs of shoes from Weinbacher and handed one to Tracy. "Just do it."

**--**

A Honda Civic pulled up in front of Drumthwacket, the official residence of the Governor of New Jersey in Princeton. It was accosted by a guard who quickly waved its occupants through when the passenger showed him his credentials and apologized for his forgetfulness in leaving behind his personal chauffeur's papers.

"Personal chauffeur?" Tosh said testily once they were let onto the grounds.

"What else was I supposed to say?" Monty replied. "I got us through, didn't I?"

The mansion was built in a Georgian fashion with large Greek columns and a plantation style lawn. In other words, it looked like the White House, but flatter and possibly belonging to a film about poltergeists. With the moon half-concealed by a veil of wispy, dark clouds, the mansion glowed white amidst a shower of shifting moonbeams, adding to its ethereal impression. It was grounded by the yellow glow of incandescent bulbs through the windows, but the warm color seemed polluted by its passage into the outdoors and became a sickly orange, like bruises tingeing pale, virgin skin.

Tosh shifted the car into park and turned off the engine, handing the keys back to Monty who pocketed them wordlessly. Now that they were here, a sinking sense of unease filled them, cutting short their chatter. While Tosh could understand why Monty might feel this way, she was at a loss to explain her own fear. Even up in Brecon Beacons, when she was about to be chopped up by cannibals, she hadn't felt such a pure sense of terror, as though some ghostly hand was tickling her spine and she didn't dare look back to see what it might belong to.

"Well, onward!" she said, more tremulously than she'd planned. Then she tried to step out of the car and forgot she still had her seat belt on. The subsequent flailing and gagging sounds did little to enhance her heroic image, but once she disengaged the clasp, she at least managed a halfway decent swagger.

They encountered no more guards. Tosh mentioned this to Monty, but he shrugged and said the others would have been alerted to their presence by now. "It's not unusual for me to come." He withdrew his Blackberry device. "Look, the governor's secretary is already updating me on the situation. It looks like he's in a meeting with the attorney general; those always take forever, so we should have plenty of time to do a quick search, and then I can introduce you if you want."

Tosh watched his face for any sign of a lie but failed to find one. "Sure, of course." Realizing she was frowning, she put on her brightest expression and proceeded onto the lawn with a slight bounce to her step. "'Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread out against the sky.'"

Monty hesitated, then followed. "'And indeed there will be time to wonder, "Do I dare?"'" He gave her a wry smile. "Any reason for choosing a poem about love unattained?"

Tosh blinked. "I never actually read the whole thing, you know; it's one of those things you save and never have the time to read. I was just thinking about the way the house looks."

"With half-deserted streets and one-night cheap hotels." Monty grinned. "Well, New Jersey never had that great a reputation, did it?"

"I hear the Drumthwacket gardens are beautiful."

"You know, I've heard that too." Monty looked thoughtful. "I've also heard that there are secret passageways in them."

"We should check out the main house first; we don't have _that_ much time."

Monty nodded. "Of course, of course."

They both paused mid-step and looked at each other, _really_ looked at each other, and they could each see their own thoughts shining in the other's eyes. "Then again, my scanner could probably locate hidden passageways in no time," Tosh said.

Their grins made perfect mirrors.

**--**

House lowered the mask onto Gwen's face and asked her to count to ten. Her body responded to the sedative as expected and she was out before four, her eyelids fluttering shut. Weinbacher picked up his scalpel with a little too much glee and elbowed House.

"I never had the chance to repay you for getting a good word in with Cuddy; what say I make her a little bigger while we're at it, eh?" he said, cupping his own nipples and then winking.

"You're sick!" Tracy said.

"That's just the fatty lip talking, Kindle." Weinbacher leered. "Since you're a friend of House, I can fix that for you; only fifty dollars."

Tracy slapped him.

"Just cut out the tumor," House said. "After all, _I'm_ not sleeping with her."

"Oh." Weinbacher tugged his ear. "I thought she was another one of your hookers."

Tracy slapped House. "Innocent until proven guilty," House reprimanded her as he rubbed his cheek. She slapped him again, sending him reeling, but the shoes kept him from hitting the ground, and instead, he bent backward like one of those punching dummies that keep getting back up until you realize you need studded gloves to make an impact. His spine creaked ominously as his back bent into an upside-down "U."

"Careful," Weinbacher warned. "Stomach stretch marks are almost _impossible_ to fix."

Flailing his arms around, House finally heard a loud crack, and his body snapped back up. With one hand clutching the small of his back, which was now throbbing, and the other outstretched to keep himself from slamming down against Gwen and releasing a surge of fatal adrenaline, he bounced back into position, his shoes having stayed firmly anchored throughout the experience. Of course, he'd forgotten Tracy was in the way, and his palm slammed into her with full force, sending her bobbing backward. She screamed, and her hairnet went flying before she caught herself against the ground in a manner that clearly indicated she'd had gymnastics lessons some time in her past. Her very, very recent past. She pushed off and used her return momentum to slap House as hard as she could.

"Goddamn it, _stop_!" House roared as he arced backward again. On his return, his head accidentally slammed into Tracy's and following a loud CRACK, they both found themselves on the floor, the suction cups having finally lost their grip.

"If you're quite satisfied," Weinbacher said mildly, "I think we should be getting on with the operation."

"Right, right," House replied, rubbing his forehead and moving back into position, glaring at Tracy all the while. He re-anchored his shoes by stamping down hard on the ground, and Tracy responded by doing the same thing, only harder. This was accompanied by a number of loud _glops_ which, considering they were now covered in blood, was quite unsanitary.

"Does anyone know what type the blood on the floor is?" House asked.

"I think the important detail you should know is actually that it's HIV-positive," Weinbacher said.

House and Tracy both froze, staring first at each other and then at the plastic surgeon. "What?" House said, his voice suddenly dropping two octaves.

"Ahaha!" Weinbacher brushed his right hand over his chest as he emitted a high-pitched giggle, kind of like the sound a mad scientist would make if he was a seven-year-old girl. "I am only kidding. It was a joke!"

House punched him, failing to notice there was a countertop behind Weinbacher, which the man's head promptly came into contact with. That left the surgeon looking like the girl from _The Exorcist_, assuming she'd fallen asleep halfway through her memorable descent down the stairs.

"Hmm."

Tracy patted him on his left hand. "It's okay, if you hadn't done it, I would've."

House sighed, picking up a scalpel. "Remind me why I called another surgeon?"

Tracy shrugged. "I've heard you're eccentric."

House gave her his best pot-calling-kettle-black look which she ignored, and then he bent over Gwen's exposed abdomen, preparing to make the first incision.

_CRASH!_

"Shit!" cried House, his hand jerking wildly and missing Gwen's nipple by about half a millimeter as he straightened to search for the source of the disturbance. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Tracy had grabbed a drill and was preparing to throw it at the doorway.

She was facing in completely the wrong direction. Instead of soldiers breaking in, there was an old man standing in the corner of the room with meticulously-combed white hair, in a suit and--most disturbingly--a cravat, which in many mythologies (House remembered reading) denoted the wearer as a bringer of great evil. He had disturbed a trash can upon his abrupt appearance, which had been, as far as House could tell, out of thin air.

"Did you just materialize from nothing?" House asked, feeling it was important to get these matters into the open as soon as possible.

"Of course," the man said in a refined and confident voice. "Would that be Miss Gwen Cooper half-undressed on the table there?" He made no attempt to peer beyond House, as though trusting that all things would be revealed in good time. House supposed that was true, though he didn't think Gwen would want to be revealing any more than necessary of herself to this clearly perverted old man.

"No, it's the Queen of England," House responded.

"Goodness, really?" the man said, sounding mildly curious. "She looks very young to be so old. Er, she is old right now, isn't she?" House didn't know quite how to respond to that, so he fell back on the safety of sarcasm.

"Yes. And you look very old. And British. And damn it, get that cravat out of my sight! Who are you?"

"My name is Bilis Manger," the man calmly stated, then fixed House with a patient stare. It took House a moment to realize he was waiting for the courtesy to be returned.

He hesitated, but anyone so unwisely named Bilis must have had a traumatic childhood, and no one in a decent state of mind would think someone would believe that was his given name unless it was truly his real name. So House said, "I'm Dr. House, and this is Nurse Tracy Kindle."

"And that unfortunate, depraved man you've knocked unconscious?" Bilis glanced at Weinbacher with interest, and House decided the man was sex-starved in addition to being perverse.

"Gerhard Weinbacher, plastic surgeon."

"Most talented with a knife, then?" Bilis said. House noticed the man had a shiv attached to his belt and took a step back before he could control himself, or at least, he tried to, but the suction cups held firm and all that happened was that his foot shifted a little inside his shoe.

"What do you want?" House snapped.

"To see Miss Cooper, of course," Bilis said, as though he couldn't imagine any other goal in life.

"Why?"

"We are... old acquaintances."

The pause made House suspicious. "Are you sure she'd like to renew this acquaintance?"

"Oh, she will. She most certainly _will_." For a moment, House thought he saw the cravat glow bright red. Then it was just an ordinary cravat again. An ordinary, unglowing, evil, genocidal--but in no way demonic--cravat.

"Hey, what's that?" All three of them turned to the door as voices drifted in from outside.

"It's a sign," a second voice said. "It reads: 'Surgery in progress.'"

"Yeah," the first voice answered. "But there's no surgery scheduled for now."

"You think terrorists might be hiding in there?"

There was a tense pause. A drawn-out pause. A silence filled with so much anxiety that the air could be cut with a sharp pointy object and, rather than yielding, would probably pull out a sharp object of its own and stab back.

Then the soldier said, "Nah, everyone knows doctors just work really slow. All that hand-washing and stuff."

House and Tracy let out a sigh of relief. Then House noticed that Bilis had taken advantage of the distraction to slip past him, and he was now standing by Gwen's head and caressing her cheek with an index finger.

"Wait," the second soldier said as the two marched past the door and saw all of them standing in plain sight through the window. "Is that doctor wearing a cravat?"

"Day-_um_! He _is_!" The two soldiers exchanged terrified glances, then they screamed, "_TERRORIST!_" and began firing madly into the operation room.

Tracy and House barely ducked in time. Bilis, however, held up his hands and disappeared before the bullets reached him. The two soldiers rushed in.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" the first asked Tracy, offering her a hand to help her back up. The other soldier rushed over to House and pulled him up, then handed him his cane.

"That was a close call," he said.

"Oh yeah, yeah," House said, tensing and preparing to knock the man out. "Thank you so much for rescuing us! We were helpless hostages, and all the while, he kept waving his cravat in front of us and saying, 'Bell-bottoms are back in fashion again, mwahahahahaha!'"

The soldiers shuddered. "How terrible!" House raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, can't trust those damn terrorists to play fair anymore," he added. The other man shook his head in disgust. "Bell-bottoms." He spat on the ground, but House decided not to comment on the issue of sanitation, given the more pressing problem of broken glass and plaster lying all over the place.

As House was returning his gaze from the puddle of spittle to the soldier's face, his eyes fell on the man's belt, upon which hung a small, cubic device, on which there was an LCD screen displaying rows and rows of multi-colored spikes. The device looked familiar, but he couldn't place what it was or where he might have seen it.

Following his gaze, the soldier turned so that the device swung out of sight, and he said to House: "Are you all right, mister?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Now if you don't mind, we need to continue the operation."

"Oh, of course!" The two soldiers sprang to attention and saluted him. "Just remember, there's always someone a holler away if the cravat man comes back."

"I'll keep that in mind." House gave him a friendly wink, which sent them on their way. As soon as they were gone, he turned to Tracy. "Well, now that all that madness is done with, let's _aaaarrggh_!"

The exclamation came because at that moment, Bilis popped back into reality. He looked around, glanced at his wristwatch, and content that all was well, approached House, apparently not bothered by the slippery floor.

"How the hell do you do that?" House snarled.

"A simple bending of space and time. It's sort of a you-get-it-or-you-don't type of proposition in terms of putting it to practice."

House's mind raced for a means of getting rid of Bilis, because the most primal part of it was screaming _Don't trust him!_ Underneath that plea came the inexplicable sound of goats _baa_-ing in the background, but he put that down to fatigue. He settled upon the simple, all-purpose statement of: "That's unsanitary."

"I'd rather say it's more sanitary than anything else in this room." Bilis' eyes flickered down to the suction cup shoes and then back up as though they didn't want to linger for fear of being caught doing something unspeakable and improper.

Tracy took House's cue, though, and _glop_ped quite menacingly toward Bilis for one wearing suction cup shoes and walking as though sinking into quicksand. Bilis backed away in disgust as the shoes sent forth a spray of blood with each step, and as he fell back faster than Tracy could advance, she stopped moving and beckoned for him to come to her. Bilis came, possibly drawn by the strength of Tracy's conviction that the world would operate exactly as she wished so long as she wished hard enough, but more probably because she was no longer splashing someone else's blood. When he was close enough, Tracy slapped him.

"Goodness, my dear, you must be gentle; I just had my cheeks botoxed."

Tracy's jaw dropped. Bilis leaned forward and whispered: "Gwen likes her lovers a bit on the young and spry side. Rowr." He made a clawing gesture with his right hand and winked.

"Get out _now_!" Tracy said, her face twisted in disgust. "Or I'll slap you so hard the injections come out of your ears."

Bilis leaned away from her and took a step back. "Feisty little devil, aren't you. Would you be interested in a threesome?" Tracy pulled her hand back in preparation for the godmother of all slaps and Bilis popped back into thin air, vanishing with as little fanfare as he'd arrived. Tracy lowered her hand and wrung them with a satisfied air.

"That ought to take care of him."

It didn't. As soon as she turned, Bilis was back, but before either of them could react, he said, "Oh, my dears, I did forget to mention; I met a friend of yours just before I came here, one James Wilson, you know, the sexy doctor with the well-shaped bottom."

House had never heard Wilson described quite that way before, but now that he thought about it, it wasn't that far off the mark, so he contented himself with a nod.

"Yes, he was trying to help me find Miss Cooper," Bilis continued. "But then we were rudely interrupted by men with guns and he was dragged away screaming. It was quite a terrible sight. I do hope they don't hurt him." House didn't find him quite convincing on the last statement, though Bilis' honesty was now the last thing on his mind.

House advanced so menacingly even the suction cups knew better than to impede his progress. "You got Wilson captured?" The statement was not an inquiry so much as an inquisition, his voice so low it by rights should have belonged to a sub-woofer, yet Bilis and Tracy heard the question more clearly than they wanted.

"Well, in a manner of speaking," Bilis said, sensing that he was now in danger of suffering far more than a simple slap.

"Get. Him. _OUT!_" House roared. "You free him with your little teleporting trick--and don't you _dare_ tell me it won't work on other people, you will find a way--and if you fail, the fact that you will never see Gwen Cooper again will be the least of your worries, _do you understand?_"

"Yes, yes, alright." Annoyance and fright warred for dominance on his features. When he straightened his back once more, he raised a finger and said, "Incidentally, what sort of procedure are you performing on Miss Cooper?"

House reached for a scalpel but Tracy quickly said, "A pheochromocytoma removal."

"Andisthatdangerous?" Bilis said, mashing his words together in his haste to get all the information he desired from House before the doctor-turned-madman placed the scalpel in an unmentionable part of his anatomy.

"Not so much with the right training and equipment," Tracy said. "Good-bye!"

Bilis didn't stop to thank her before he vanished. House looked at Tracy. "Do you suppose that was relevant to saving Wilson?"

"Well, no," Tracy replied. "But people do tend to work better when their mind's at ease, which is why I think you should wait a moment before you continue with the operation."

House set the scalpel down, his mind buzzing with little bees whispering things they would do to anyone who hurt Wilson. No one was allowed to hurt Wilson. Wilson existed for House's sadistic pleasure alone. And money-lending, of course. All of this left little brain capacity to ponder what Tracy was talking about, but then, a knock on the door was followed by a team of seven doctors in crisp green scrubs wheeling in cartloads of equipment appropriate to operating on a dangerous tumor in the adrenal gland.

"We're looking for Miss Cooper," the lead surgeon said, surveying the room with distaste but no obvious surprise. "We were sent by Mr. Manger."

"Uh." House said.

Tracy pulled him out of the way, handed the surgeons a pair of suction cup shoes each, and pointed at Gwen, indicating her to be the person they were looking for.

"He said he could travel in space and _time_, remember?" she whispered to House.

"Oh," House said, looking thoughtful. "That's quite useful."

**--**

The interior of Drumthwacket was the typical combination of white walls and painted wood with wallpapers and curtains of different but always bold color schemes in each room. There was no doubt a Victorian would have been entirely at home there, which was another way of saying the decorations were unfit for modern eyes. The halls were devoid of people, which Tosh admitted wasn't out of the ordinary for the middle of the night, but she couldn't help feeling the house was too quiet for comfort. Anywhere else, and she would've been tensing in preparation for an ambush or the closing of a trap, yet here, she kept letting down her guard without even noticing.

_No, it can't be psychic influence,_ she thought, knowing that her training would have given her at least some small warning. She tried not to think about the man beside her, the big, dark, handsome, strong... _No! Bad me, bad! Not the time!_

"You think we should search the bedrooms?" Monty asked, looking reluctant to venture the suggestion. "It's just that the staff goes in and out of his offices here all the time, so if he truly wanted to hide anything, it wouldn't be in there."

"Pervert," Tosh replied, but she didn't disagree, and since the living quarters were closer to their current location, she let Monty lead the way.

The first room they entered bore signs of having been partially redecorated, with a pink and flowery pastiche sort of wallpaper covering the walls and even part of the roof. Similar floral patterns had spread onto the curtains and bedding, and while the carpet remained defiantly navy blue for the time being, that didn't stop a purple and orange throw rug from sprawling on top of the region between the bed and the door. A grey tabby had been curled up on it before their entrance, and now the cat fluffed up and hissed at Tosh, arching his back and showing his teeth. Monty fumbled in his pockets, came up with a packet of cat treats, and tossed some onto the ground. The cat decided they were his new best friends.

"They're so much easier to bribe than dogs," Monty remarked. "The bloodhounds Governor Streed keeps are _evil_."

"I thought you said this was a guest bedroom," Tosh said.

"I did."

"So why does it look like it's seeing long-term use?"

Monty frowned. "Trouble with the wife?" Then he brightened. "That'd make sense if an alien body-snatched him, right?"

"You realize that would mean he's dead."

"Oh. You mean, they don't sort of just clone him and lock him up in a spaceship somewhere?"

Tosh patted him on the shoulder. "You watch too many cartoons. Come on, let's try under the mattress."

They positioned themselves on each side of the bed and through their joint efforts, heaved the mattress half a meter into the air. A quick glance revealed nothing, but Tosh ran her hand along both box and mattress. They dropped it back into place and smoothed down the sheets.

"You check the bathroom, I'll check out here?" Monty suggested, pulling open a drawer. Upon seeing a bra with "Tiger" monogrammed on it, he slammed the drawer shut and said, "I can check the bathroom."

"Are you sure?" Tosh grinned as she walked to where he'd been and re-opened the drawer. "You might find used panties in there."

"Don't you try to frighten me." Monty's voice echoed out of the three-chambered bathroom, accompanied by the tap-tapping of his footsteps on tile. "I've seen my fair share of used panties in my thirty year lifespan, and I can tell you, I'm more than prepared to deal with... _Playboy_?" Monty burst through the doorway, waving the magazine at Tosh, causing it to unfold, revealing a rather revealing centerfold. "_Playboy?_" he repeated. "No wonder they're having marriage trouble."

"I thought you said you could deal with seeing undies."

"But, I mean, I've _met_ his wife before!"

Tosh brushed her bangs aside as she looked away from him. "Nothing wrong with steamy lesbian sex."

Monty scoffed. "Well, of course not, it's just that the last time we met, she slapped my ass and called me... tiger..." A hunted look appeared on Monty's face, and he waved his index finger at her. "We shall not speak of this again."

Tosh shrugged and nodded. "No problem." She whipped the bra out of its resting place and threw at him. "Catch, tiger."

Monty juggled the incoming brassiere as he might a jar filled with poisonous spiders. Rather than batting it away, however, his frantic motions caused it to tangle about his head, so that he had to flail even more wildly. In the end, he managed to rip it off and dash it against the bed with such force the sheets became ruffled again. "You're never going to let me forget this, are you?"

"Roar," Tosh replied.

Monty threw the magazine at her and retreated back into the bathroom. Tosh took a look at the centerfold and nodded. "She has good taste in women."

That was the last interesting discovery they made in the room, as a search of the wardrobe, the bathroom, the walk-in closet, and the storage space above the closet all turned up nothing. Monty was disappointed because he'd come up with a theory that both the governor and his wife were aliens--"See, the alien's just sexually confused, because it's stuck in a body of the wrong gender"--which Tosh didn't want to tell him made no sense whatsoever, because why would an alien have a human's sexual urges to begin with?

As they were about to leave, Monty bumped the dresser by the door, knocking down a box that was doubling as a picture frame, containing seven photos of the woman and her estranged husband. The back of the frame knocked loose, revealing a hidden panel within. Monty pounced on it and pulled out a clear bottle containing an amber-colored liquid.

"Aha!" he exclaimed. "What do you suppose this could be? A conversion serum, alien secretions, a top-secret hallucinogen?" He tilted the glass container side to side, watching the contents slosh back and forth. His eyes contained a sort of manic glee. 

"I think it's whiskey," Tosh said.

"Oh." Monty replaced the bottle and righted the frame, taking care to return it to its original position. "The governor's bedroom is just down the hall."

Before he could open the door, though, Tosh grabbed his hand. He frowned, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but Tosh didn't explain and instead, led him to the bed without a second word.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't think now's the time," Monty said as they sat, the bed sinking beneath their weight.

Tosh rolled her eyes. "I know this seems like a game to you, Monty, and sometimes I think that's the best way to treat my job; you can't take it too seriously or else you'll go insane or, worse, become obsessed. But the longer we're together, the more I realize you're not cut out to do this: clandestine, alien-hunting, put-your-life-on-the-line sort of work." He opened his mouth to protest, but she put a finger over his lips and cut him off. "Or maybe you are, or will be with time, but even so, _I'm_ not ready to put your life on the line. If this is the alien headquarters, then this is the heart of the danger, and I can't keep pretending you're safe with me any longer. So now's the time to say this, even if it's coming a little late; I want you to get out of here, Monty, pretend none of this ever happened, or maybe use your position to get back to the hospital and make sure the National Guard hasn't shipped your aunt off to Guantanomo. But don't stay here. I can't even begin to explain the risks to you, and you might be willing to stake everything on this operation, but I'm not." She paused, then rushed on, "And maybe when this is all over, I can visit you and we can have some real time to ourselves."

There was also the fact that if he couldn't be trusted, now was the time to rid herself of a spy, but she left that unsaid and wished she could leave it out of her mind altogether. She studied Monty's face for any hint of his true feelings, but his expression remained flat. His eyes roamed her face for a few seconds, likely searching for the same thing, before he said one word: "No."

"Monty, you could die."

"I don't care." When he saw Tosh grimace, he put both hands on her shoulders. "No, really, I don't. All my life, I've been waiting for something like this to happen. I'm not going to let it pass me by."

"Why?"

"Aren't we wasting time here? If you're serious about not getting caught, sitting around talking about my childhood isn't going to help."

"Listen, I understand the drive, the need to know what's out there; guess how I got involved? I was a scientist, minding my own business, when an alien ship crashed into Big Ben and I landed the autopsy job. Ever since that moment, that one fleeting glimpse of something greater, of unfamiliar life, knowing it was thriving out there in the stars, visibly hidden and out of reach, and I knew that given the right opportunity, I could seize the knowledge out there and understand and feel like all the information building up and accumulating in my head would tie together and make _sense_. But it doesn't, Monty, you just get more numbers, more facts, more strangeness to add to all the rest until your head feels like it's going to explode, and still you're hoping for that little bit more." But even as the words flooded out of her, she could see they weren't the ones Monty needed to hear. If anything, he looked more confused.

When she finished, he scratched his sideburns a little and said simply, "I'm not leaving _you_. All this alien-hunting, it's great fun, I'll admit, but that feeling, that sense of the one piece of information that makes everything click together? It isn't running around after aliens, it's running around after aliens _with you_. I just, I just feel like whatever it is I'm doing with you, it's the right thing to do." He leaned closer. "And frankly, if I die doing it, then that's what's supposed to happen. And I don't want you feeling guilty, because it's how _I_ want to live my life."

And with that confession, Tosh knew.

"All right." She nodded. "Then let's go."

Monty's gaze lingered on her for a moment, trying to assess the reason for her sudden change of heart, but then it snapped away and he bounded to the door with a wide grin on his face. "His quarters are right there."

He pointed out the door as they exited the room. Just as he did, it began opening, and Tosh grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the bedroom. Keeping a crack open between the door and the frame, they peered out to see two men leaving. The first, Tosh recognized as the governor from the portrait of him hanging up in the office back in Trenton. He was middle-aged and portly, though his bulk was from muscles atrophying from disuse, yet he carried an air of authority about him, part confidence in his political power and part confidence that if it came down to it, he could still win a fight. He reminded Tosh less of a politician than of a mob member, though his hair and suit were both rumpled, diminishing the appearance of poise and danger. He smoothed the hair down as he proceeded down the hall, however, and straightened his tie as well.

"See? Confused," Monty whispered as they took in the governor's associate's harassed look.

"Who's the other man?" Behind the governor was a much smaller man, though a second glance told Tosh this impression was only in relation to the governor. Given the governor was almost 200 centimeters tall, the other man must have been around 182, which was still taller than the average. There was no denying that he was thinner, though; where the governor was big and commanding, he was lean and forgettable, the sort of man who could appear from the shadows to cut your throat and then vanish again without a trace. His was a face you didn't forget, provided you could catch a glimpse of it in the first place.

"Attorney General Craig Howell. I told you they were in a meeting, though I didn't know it was _that_ kind of meeting."

"Excuse me, text from Jack," Tosh said, dodging back to the bed as she took out her cell. She made a show of reading the blank screen. After a period of time she judged long enough for reading an imaginary message, she began typing. The internet application popped up, and before long, she had a picture of Craig Howell on her phone, the face matching the man she'd seen perfectly. She nodded and closed the window. "Sorry, he just wanted to let us know he's almost at the hospital and that he'll 'straighten things out' once he's there." Tosh smirked, partly at her choice of words and partly to cover the grimace she wanted to make at formulating such a terrible lie. "Wishful thinking, in my opinion."

Monty accepted her words at face value. "It's clear," he said, dodging into the hallway. Tosh jogged after him, and they both slipped into the bedroom before its previous occupants had disappeared around the corner. Neither looked back, however, and once inside, Tosh locked the door.

The room was a mess. There was unwashed clothing draped all over the wardrobes and mirrors while the bed itself looked like it hadn't seen a housecleaner in days. Beneath the window was a desk with lamp and computer, and though the monitor looked to be collecting dust, papers leaned in several precarious stacks that appeared to have seen more recent use. Tosh also noticed the glint of metal from objects hidden amidst the mess, and upon moving closer, found a cell phone, pager, and something she didn't recognize that resembled a cigar case with LED lights running the length of it.

"He's forgotten something," she whispered, realizing their absence would be temporary. She ran up to the desk and picked up the case without regard for security measures. At her insistence, Monty unlocked the door and then retreated to her side, eyeing the door as though it would open at any moment. She ran her fingers along the smooth shell of the device and felt a number of indentations, so shallow as to be invisible in the dim light, but combined with its appearance, she knew the device was alien. 

"What do you think it is?"

Tosh brought it up before her eyes and peered at it, the flashing lights glowing against the lenses of her glasses. She let her fingers move of their own accord, exploring the surface and piecing together the grooves as one would roll out a tapestry, watching the details unfold until at last, a pattern emerged….

"I've got it," she announced, pressing her fingers down into four of the indentations. At once, the device lit up, its skin becoming transparent as the intensity of its own light increased. The device also seemed to expand, turning from solid into gas into fog, until it became a translucent screen, like one gigantic hologram one meter square, floating in the air before them. It shimmered and different shades of gray flashed along its surface in what seemed to be a fractal pattern. Then the image settled and a map of New Jersey appeared. "Of course," Tosh breathed. "It's a remote!"

"A what?" Monty's eyes darted toward the television.

"That's sort of the right idea," replied Tosh. "Look at these dots on the map, they indicate signals, like television channels, and the remote lets us control the state of whatever alien tech is present at these locations, like a super control panel." The thickest cluster of lights gathered but a few miles from their present location around the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. She pressed her finger there, and the map zoomed in, the landscape expanding until they were peering down at what seemed to be a real-time satellite feed of the hospital. There were even little soldiers marching through the parking lot, and humvees patrolling the perimeters. Blockades had been set up around the building to prevent any more people from coming in and out, and lights blinked atop detour signs diverting motorists away from the surrounding roads.

Most of the blinking dots remained centered on the hospital, but one was located on the parking structure. Monty noticed it at the same time Tosh did, and he pointed at it. His finger darted a little too close, however, and the picture expanded further. Tosh caught a glimpse of their rental van, and as the image zoomed in, the background faded to black and the car became a rotating three-dimensional image. Text floated atop it, pronouncing: "Torchwood Rental Vehicle" and then, in smaller font, "Temporary Prisoner Holding Location." Beside the image, the question "Disable Shields?" appeared. Monty was startled by the sudden change, as he hadn't expected to touch the screen itself, and he flung his hand aside with a soft yelp. Tosh tried to grab his arm, but it was too late. Monty's hand flung through the "Yes" part of the prompt, and the screen vanished.

A brief whisper drifted through Tosh's mind, as though it were a memory rather than a new message, but the words were clear enough either way: "Shields disabled." Then the device folded back up into a tiny metal casing, but this time, all the lights were flashing red. Tosh felt her heart sink as Monty put voice to her worries: "It doesn't know we're not the governor, right?"

"Well," Tosh said, setting the device back onto the desk, "we needed to disable anything holding the car anyway." The lights stopped flashing, and all seemed well until they all lit up at the same time. "But maybe we should've waited until we were away from the building."

The device let out an ear-splitting, shockingly human shriek, and at once, they heard voices from outside the door. Footsteps thumped toward them, and Tosh looked around for a place to hide, but of course, they would search the room now that they knew intruders had been present. They had one chance.

Tosh threw open the window and jumped through it, smashing apart the screen and crashing into the bushes below. She had but an instant to roll to the side before Monty followed her out, thumping into the ground where she had been lying moments earlier. Part of her felt misgivings at letting him follow her any further, as he could then report her position any time, but the logical part of her brain told her that trying to lose him now would be tantamount to admitting she didn't trust him, and that would be even riskier than letting him tag along, so she whispered, "Hurry up!" and, still in a crouch, began running along the side of the house.

Monty was close behind as they rounded the corner just in time to hear the governor yell, "They went out the window!" He poked his head out, looking this way and that, but they flattened themselves against the ground behind a rosebush, and though Tosh thought his gaze lingered in their direction a little longer than anywhere else, he soon retreated back into the room, and they both breathed a sigh of relief.

"They didn't take anything," a low, sort of guttural voice said.

"But they might've seen," the governor replied, his own voice a little higher and stronger, less animalistic and more calculating. "They must not get away. I'll have the guards release the dogs."

"Oh hell," said Monty.

**--**

"Help! I'm being kidnapped!"

Heads turned all along the hall in time to see Wilson being dragged between two grim-faced soldiers. His arms waved frantically and his feet kicked about, so that it looked as though he was trapped in a high-powered wind tunnel, but all to little effect. Most people turned away again as soon as they located the source of the commotion. Most doubtless had enough problems of their own--they were, after all, in a locked-down hospital--and didn't want to be dragged into someone else's.

The thought of other people suffering calmed Wilson down somewhat, or at least made him feel a little better. Pain, whether physical or psychological, wasn't pleasant to deal with, but at least it gave him focus. He was good at treating other people; that was his job, his duty. _And getting arrested isn't going to help me help them,_ he thought, and realizing that, he settled down, letting his body go limp. The soldiers didn't react at all. _Probably figure I've given up._

They reached the elevators, one of which opened right as they arrived so that there was no awkward wait with the two soldiers standing at attention and Wilson bedraggled on the ground between them. No, that awkwardness was reserved for once they were inside and the doors had closed. Wilson took advantage of the wait to ask once more: "So why am I being arrested?"

Still no answer, but rather than press the point, Wilson let the silence drag and drag. He could see the tension increase in the soldiers' shoulders as the elevator continued its journey. Even Wilson was shocked at how long it took, but glancing at the panel, he realized they'd gotten into the wrong car, for this one was bound up before it would descend to the lobby. And someone had hit the top floor before leaving.

Wilson grinned. Well, he deserved to be lucky at least _once_ today. He started humming. His captors _really_ didn't like that.

At last, they reached the top floor. The doors slid open, found no one waiting, and shut again. The elevator began descending. Wilson whistled a little louder, hoping to annoy an answer out of the soldiers soon. Then the lights went out, the car jerked to a halt, and a tinny whining died away amidst the snarling of the dying motor. Wilson saw the men's eyes go wide.

"Wow, a blackout," Wilson said smugly, carefully keeping the surprise out of his own voice. "What are the odds of _that_?"

**--**

"Guess what number I have behind my back," Owen told Cameron.

"Four." Foreman groaned from behind him.

"Stop cheating!"

"It's a stupid game!"

"I don't care. I'm not playing with you! You're just trying to come up with excuses for the fact that you keep staring up at my crotch."

"Ew!" Chase exclaimed from behind Foreman. Owen winked at Cameron, who looked simultaneously disgusted and aroused, which would've been a much more pleasant reaction if she wasn't in Chase's body.

"Look, arguing isn't going to get us out of this trunk," Cameron said. "But if we all work together--"

_Thunk_. With a creak, the boot opened up and light flooded in. Cameron let out a cry as she raised her arms up, indicating their invisible restraints were gone. A second later, she had scrambled out into the car park, followed by Chase. Owen had a lot more trouble, though, as he'd been locked in much longer and felt as nimble as a day-old corpse. He noticed, with an evil sort of glee, that Foreman was having similar problems, but soon, they had stretched and cracked their joints enough that blood was pounding through all their limbs, and they half-crawled and half-threw themselves from the car, determined never to look back.

The moment Owen hit the asphalt, an alarm shrieked, a high-pitched klaxon that emanated from the ground and the columns and even the car itself. They all threw their hands to their ears, trying to block out the sound, but even their skin seemed to be ringing in sympathy with the surrounding world.

"I think they know we escaped!" Chase screamed over the din.

Owen rolled his eyes. "You think? _Run!_"

They broke apart, Chase and Cameron heading in one direction while Foreman and Owen instinctively went the other way. Owen had one moment to notice they were back in a central level of the car park rather than on the roof, as Cameron had described it earlier. The entire field must be down, he thought, but he didn't intend to stick around waiting to see if the aliens would fix the problem.

The lift loomed as they reached the edge of the park, but not trusting its perilous confines, they turned and entered the stairwell in time to hear a number of pattering footsteps echo up toward them. Foreman grabbed Owen's sleeve, as though hoping to retreat and find another way out, but the alarm was so unignorable Owen was sure the enemy would be covering every exit. And with unknown levels of technology at their disposal, he wasn't about to try and hide.

Instead, he took advantage of Foreman's grip to drag the doctor down the stairs alongside him. Two soldiers nearly ran into them as they rounded the landing of the next floor down. Owen dodged, throwing a punch at one of them and sending him flying down the stairs. The second reached out to grab him, his gun useless in such a close space, and Owen whipped Foreman around him and into the other man. Both went down in a heap, but Owen took a handful of Foreman's jacket and pulled him back onto his feet before he could figure out what had happened. They jumped over the soldier moaning on the ground and continued running.

"Stop them!" a deep voice roared, trembling with subtle tones and guttural growls that originated from no human throat, and as though being jerked up by an unseen puppeteer, the soldier Owen punched sprang up and fired his gun. The two of them ducked and bullets pounded against the concrete wall beside where they'd been standing, bits of dust and cement tearing through the air. As they scrambled back to their feet, the other soldier -- the one Foreman knocked down -- leapt over the railings above them and fell a floor down, grabbing the wrought-iron bar of the railing beside Foreman and flipping back over it to land in front of them.

Heat waves shimmered through the air as the soldier's features contorted, his skin melting and evaporating to reveal a grotesque, towering, bipedal iguana. Owen let out a great yell, throwing himself up the stairs as quickly as his hands and feet could manage, while a part of his brain kept screaming _Throw the American at it; let it eat him first!_

Foreman, meanwhile, was being quite obliging in regard to this plan. He simply stood there, frozen in absolute, abject terror. He wasn't even trembling. His eyes grew wider and wider, though, and seemed in danger of rolling into his head. The iguana smiled and aimed its gun, which had transformed from a rifle into a small, red-barreled weapon with some resemblance to a caulking gun. _Disintegrator._ Owen remembered seeing something similar in the Torchwood archives, and this familiar, if extra-terrestrial, sight brought him back to his senses.

The alien was about to fire when a thought occurred to him. _Surely Foreman's not afraid of iguanas too?_ Gwen had always made fun of him about it, claiming he was the sole person in the entire world to have that particular phobia. "I bet they don't even have a scientific name for it," she'd teased.

He dodged the blast, throwing himself at Foreman's feet. They both hit the landing with a grunt, but eye contact was broken and both were free from the terrible fear that'd gripped them. "Foreman, what did you see?" Owen gasped.

"My, my mother," Foreman gasped. "And... _she recognized me..._" His voice drifted away, but Owen didn't find now to be the time to ask why Foreman's greatest fear was his mother.

"It's a hallucination!"

Foreman glared shakily. "I know that. It was just... a surprise, that's all."

A whine announced the gun recharging, and they pushed apart in time for the alien to blast a hole in the landing. A creak, stretched out as though part of a slow-motion sequence, came from the quivering metal supports. Then the entire staircase collapsed, folding in on itself over and over as Foreman, Owen, and the alien--now turned into a wrinkled, leathery, tentacled mass--fell amidst twisting and snapping rods of metal.

"Oh Christ," Owen muttered, feeling his neck to determine whether he'd pulled any muscles. Before his diagnosis got any further than _Damn, my neck really hurts_, he was distracted by more important issues, namely that of opening his eyes and discovering he was staring straight down the barrel of the disintegrator.

The laser blast missed his face by a bare centimeter, so close he could feel its heat on his cheek and hear the crackle and sizzle of the beam as it passed. Stunned that it had missed, he required a few seconds to notice Foreman standing where the alien had been. He'd pushed the creature aside just in time, knocking it over onto a jagged piece of railing and impaling it through the abdomen.

Behind Owen, a massive explosion forced him to whirl around in time to see what remained of the hospital's back-up power generator soar up into the sky and take out a passing helicopter. Foreman watched the lights fade from the hospital windows with an expression similar to when he'd seen his mother. He licked his lips once, then said, "Maybe I should've let the laser hit you."

"Yeah, thanks." Owen was coming up with an even wittier comeback when a beeping interrupted his thoughts. The alien, drawing its last breaths, was eyeing him with a satisfied bent to its tentacles, and then he saw a device at its neck flashing mauve. "Bomb!" he cried, grabbing Foreman and running. They leapt the nearest wall and dropped to the grass as the concussive force of the detonation swept over them.

Foreman got back up first. "Hurry up!" he said, tugging at Owen. Owen grimaced, wondering what the fuss was about, before he looked up to see the entire car park collapsing.

"Right, I'm coming!" he said as Foreman threw himself to the right to avoid a falling piece of cement the size of a sumo wrestler. Scrambling to his feet, Owen dodged after Foreman, who didn't look back as he ran for the hospital.

"There they are!" a woman's voice cried from far away. Owen glanced in its direction and saw Chase and Cameron running toward them, both still moving a little awkwardly, probably due to the combination of suddenly switching bodies and then being trapped in a cramped space for a long time. Cars rained down all around them. Foreman hesitated a moment before changing course to meet with them.

"Is anyone following you?" he demanded as they approached.

Cameron shook her head, breathless, and Chase answered, "No, they cornered us on the ground floor when the explosion knocked them flat. Where do we go from here?"

All eyes turned to Owen. He scowled. "Back to the hospital. They'll seal off the grounds as soon as they know we're gone, and they'd have to be blind not to spot that blast."

Cameron straightened from her hunched position with her hands on her knees and said wheezily, "The blackout will cause enough chaos to let us sneak in unnoticed."

Owen glanced at the hospital and saw that all the lights were indeed out. The blast must have severed the power lines, and now, all that was left was the pale moonlight and the shifting glow of dying flames.

"Hurry," Foreman said as several humvees roared past just a hundred meters away from them. "There's a side entrance not far from here that leads into the stairwell."

"Isn't that an emergency exit?" Chase asked.

Foreman shrugged. "Another alarm or two isn't going to make a difference, at this point. I just hope they can get the power back on soon."

"Why?" Owen frowned. "That's not going to help us."

"It's a hospital," Cameron replied, sounding exasperated. "People are going to start dying if we can't keep the machines running, and backup batteries only last so long. But I guess that doesn't worry a great alien hunter like you."

Owen reddened. "I'm a doctor too."

"It's hard to tell sometimes," Cameron said, but her voice had softened.

The fire alarm did indeed ring the moment Foreman forced the door open, but they ignored it. "Where do we go from here?" Chase asked, pulling the door shut behind them.

"House was in the morgue with Gwen. We should find them; he might need help treating her condition."

"What about Cuddy?" Chase asked.

"What about her?" Cameron replied.

"Well, I think we should find her."

"Why?"

"Well, I'd feel better if we had Cuddy around." Chase shrugged.

"No one's going to fire you today." Foreman scoffed. "No need to hide behind her skirts."

"The window to her office is broken," Chase countered. "I saw it from the garage."

"You're sure?" Cameron asked, her eyebrows raised. Chase nodded.

"Fine, we'll look for House and Gwen, you two go find Cuddy," Owen said. Foreman looked ready to dispute this division of labor, but Cameron gave him a stern look and he followed Owen down into the morgue. Above their heads, they heard the clatter of Chase and Cameron setting off upstairs.

"You're not still trying to get me to sleep with you, are you?" Foreman asked suspiciously.

"You think those two are going to let each other out of sight? I mean, what if one of them gets the other's body shot?"

Foreman sighed. "Alright. Mind you, I have no qualms with letting you get yourself shot."

Owen sneered. "The feeling's mutual."

**--**

The car boot was musty and dark, smelling of moldy leather, gunpowder, and dead fish. Ianto couldn't help feeling Susan had played a particularly unfunny joke on him. He was convinced her hair had been laughing at him as she closed the boot, but what was done was done.

He was brought out of his reverie by the sudden cessation of noise from the engine. The faint crackle of tires grinding to a halt on asphalt and stray stones drifted up from the underbody of the car, and then there were voices.

"How was the drive, Gordon?" someone asked. The driver made a noncommittal noise. The latch clicked, then a moment later, footsteps and the door slamming shut. Ianto waited for another minute until all the noise had died away before he grabbed the cord dangling enticingly by his head and the boot sprang open.

He surveyed his surroundings, taking in a vast expanse of fenced-in lawn and a Georgian mansion sitting in the midst of a decadent garden. _Drumthwacket,_ he thought, recalling the governor's mansion from the research he'd done prior to leaving Cardiff. _No wonder I didn't tell Susan where I was going. This is insane._ Sending Tosh to infiltrate the place was one thing when she had someone who could bring her in and out safely, but to come here himself would endanger all three of them. Nevertheless, there must be something he had to discover that Tosh could not.

Three steps into his mission, he heard the unwelcome sound of alarms ringing through the building, followed moments later by barking that echoed across the grounds. Squinting against the light blazing from the house, he could make out six bloodhounds charging straight at him, and he retreated back to the car before realizing it was closed off and locked. Even the boot had been closed, and he cursed himself for his meticulousness.

_Tosh must be in trouble,_ he thought, watching shadows dart back and forth across the windows. Of course, he was in trouble as well, and he wondered if Tosh was nearby if the governor's dogs were being let loose here. Then he saw canine shapes slide around the side of the house as well, and his heart sank as he realized there must be a number of packs.

A glint of reflected moonlight caught his eye as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, preparing to dodge the first dog's leap. Peering through the car window, he saw an aluminum baseball bat in the back seat. He shrugged off his coat without a second thought and wrapped it around his fist.

The window was a lot sturdier than he expected, and he bit back a curse as pain coursed up his arm, screaming hyperbole to his brain about broken knuckle bones. A web of cracks spread through the glass, though, and it broke with Ianto's second punch.

He grabbed the bat, tearing his jacket sleeve on the jagged remains of the window as he pulled his arm back out in a wild swing that connected with a snout just as the first hound leapt at him. The dog whimpered and crashed into the car door to his left. He brought the bat down on a second dog but missed, and its bite tore through the jeans Susan had gone to such lengths to procure for him. With a grimace--as much due to his bleeding buttocks as to his psychological pain--he realized he only had one good suit remaining, though at least that one was safe in the Torchwood rental car.

A second jaw latching onto his shoe brought him back to reality, and he beat at the dog's back to little effect. A fourth went for the offending hand that wielded the bat, and he had to throw himself back against the car to keep from getting bit. By this time, the first dog had recovered, and Ianto aimed a kick to its head to knock it out cold. Realizing he couldn't outfight the entire pack, he took a step forward and nearly tripped as the dog attached to his shoe shook his foot back and forth, refusing to let go. He let the shoe slide off and ran for the house.

Immediately, a fifth hound grabbed his pant leg, bringing him crashing to the ground. He spat out a mouthful of dirt and grass as he swung blindly to keep the remaining hounds at a distance. Twice, he hit something tough and lumpy, the force of impact sending jolts up his arms. He began pulling himself away, still waving the bat back and forth. Chomping jaws, gnashing teeth, and globules of slobber gunning their way through the air filled his vision. The tear at his buttocks expanded, and he heard a loud _RIIIIIIP_ as the entire waistline gave way and the pants collapsed, flat and unoccupied, onto the ground. He froze for the briefest of moments before his modesty lost precedence to the chance to escape, and he scrambled back to his feet and ran, his legs swinging in long arcs as he charged across the lawn at speeds faster than he'd ever achieved before.

The dogs kept pace behind him, but somehow, he managed to stay one step ahead of their sharp, yellow canines. They howled their fury at failing to outrun their prey, and he worried guards would come investigate the disturbance, but similar barks and yelps sounded all across the grounds, and before long, his pursuers fell silent as they devoted all their breath to keeping up the chase.

At last, the front door loomed up ahead, but he forced himself to turn right. _No good to escape the dogs and get caught by worse,_ he thought, though his body vehemently protested this exercise of logic. He could see an open window leading into a darkened room, however, and his feet pounded against the concrete, a loud slap from his shoe followed by the soft thunk of his sock, as he raced up the front steps, threw himself through the hedges, and climbed in. The dogs tried to leap in after him but failed, and he collapsed onto the carpet, wheezing so hard he couldn't even breathe a sigh of relief.

The dogs resumed their chorus of growls and howls as they hopped up and down outside the window, their heads popping into view long enough for them to bear their teeth before they fell out of sight again. Ianto dragged himself across the room, deciding he couldn't afford to stay any longer, and threw himself through a door into the adjoining room.

The room looked to be a sitting area with cherry bookshelves lining the wonderfully windowless walls and a comfy forest green recliner sitting in the corner facing a coffee table and a silver tea set. He flung himself behind the chair to keep out of sight of the other door leading into the room, which he assumed led in from the hallway, and gave himself a few minutes to catch his breath before proceeding with an investigation of the manor.

When he finally ventured into the hall, the house was empty and silent. Floorboards creaked as he made his way toward the stairs, and though he winced at every squeak, no one appeared to challenge him. Of course, his first thought was to procure a new pair of pants, and he welcomed the lack of distractions.

Upon reaching the second floor, he listened at the first door he reached--which was to his left--and upon hearing no one on the other side, he eased it open and slid through. He had the drawers of the nearest wardrobe open before he realized his mistake, for the room was decorated in quite a feminine fashion and outfitted for one person. As if that wasn't proof enough, a drawer full of panties stared back up at him.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" a husky woman's voice sounded from behind him?. He jumped and turned to see a woman in a floral pink nightgown leaning against the doorway he'd forgotten to close in his rush for clothes. She was a middle-aged woman with a touch of gray at her temples, but her skin was the smooth and burnished gold of a woman with the leisure time to care for herself and the wealth to ensure her care was of the best quality. She was eyeing him with a hawkish quality, as someone would an intruder whose appearance was a surprise but not necessarily an unpleasant one. Altogether unflustered, her posture indicated she had not a care in the world and no interest but in what she was seeing. Her fingers toyed with one slim, snow white cigarette whose burning end was smoking in an atmospherically sinister way, and she brought it to her mouth for a deep puff before drawing herself up to her full height.

She was only a few centimeters shorter than Ianto, but given that he wasn't wearing pants, she seemed much taller indeed. If push came to shove, Ianto was sure he could escape her, but he didn't want to raise an uproar if at all possible. In this manner, he was trying to come up with some plausible explanation for his presence when she presented one for him.

"Finally," the woman said, putting the cigarette out in the pot of a nearby houseplant. "I've been asking Ron to send me my bodyguard pantless for months now. I see he's finally gotten the message through his thick, metal-plated skull."

"R-R-Ron?" Ianto stammered, images of all the possible reasons she could want a pantless bodyguard flashing through his mind.

"Mr. Kendall, or Head of Security Kendall, if you prefer. You boys are always such sticklers for propriety." She eyed him up and down, as though saying there were distinct bounds beyond which the definition of appropriate behavior became much more fluid and flexible.

"Um, well..." Surely she wouldn't actually abuse her position of privilege to the extent that, say, Jack did. Would she? Then he realized who he was speaking to, for what other lady in the governor's mansion would need a bodyguard? _Of all the people to meet, it had to be his wife!_ "Well, that's what I'm here for, er..." he wracked his mind for her name, "um, Mrs. Streed."

"You're bleeding," she said, the lustiness dropping out of her voice. Suddenly all business, she strode over, grabbing his shoulders--her fingers possessing unexpected strength--and whirling him around. She ran one polished fingernail up along his thigh, ignoring his wince of pain as she examined the tears in his briefs. "You're new, then. The dogs don't take well to newbies, and that'd explain why I haven't seen you before."

She grabbed a small glass jar from the wardrobe and unscrewed the lid, running her fingers along the ointment within and rubbing it into his wounds. "This should take care of things."

"Thank you, ma'am," Ianto said obediently.

"Call me Rebeca," she whispered into his ear, rolling the 'R' much longer than Ianto felt she needed to.

"Uh, yes, Rebeca, ma'am." Ianto jumped and squeaked as her hands jumped from his buttocks to his waistline and pulled his underwear down, down, _down_.

Her body now pressed against his, she moved her lips from his ear to his cheek, pushing the tip of her tongue against his skin. Their eyes met, and he didn't think he'd ever seen anyone with eyes so big and round as hers. _I'm getting mauled by a cougar!_ he thought.

"If you pull open that top drawer," she said between kisses, "you'll find handcuffs hidden in the back."

Ianto whimpered but reached for the handle, at which point she suddenly pulled away from him and slapped his hand. "Honestly," she snapped, "do you really think I'm stupid enough to believe you're part of my security detail? You don't know _any_ of the protocols, and even if you did, I know who my bodyguards are."

Ianto jumped, stunned--and also thoroughly relieved--by this new development, and then got tangled up in his briefs and fell in a heap on the other side of the bed. "You're not calling for help, then, I assume?" he said from the floor.

"No, I suppose not," she replied, sounding thoughtful. Ianto pulled his underwear back on and poked his head over the edge of the bed in time to see her tapping her finger against her chin and eyeing him thoughtfully. "Perhaps I _should_ have seen how far you were willing to go. But no, I daresay we don't have any time to waste."

"What do you mean?"

She swept off into the bathroom, and for one terrifying moment, Ianto was sure she was going to come back with more sexually suggestive items, but all she carried was a magazine. _Surely that can't cause any problems,_ he thought, and then he groaned. It was _Playboy_.

"Look," she said, tearing open the magazine as though to a random page, and she jabbed a finger at the first line of the article.

"'Ho ho ho: Christmas comes early as archaeologists unearth nude sketches of rumored Pirate Queen,'" Ianto read aloud. The opposing page was devoted to a heavily smeared charcoal drawing of a woman whose beauty (and utterly X-rated nature) age and weather had failed to dull. Ianto thought the woman looked like that actress from _Love, Actually_ and _Pride and Prejudice_. "Yes, so?"

Rebeca clucked, her own posture indicating she had little patience for his foolishness. "Not that actual article, or the title. We're looking at the _first letter_ of each sentence. Piece them together, and you get: 'Jack Harkness, my fellow captain, we shall meet again at Shipwreck Island.'"

Ianto had to make an effort not to start. And yet, if she was working for her husband, she would've turned him in by now, unless she was meant to be feeding him false trails, yet what was Shipwreck Island? If they wanted to be misleading, they could at least choose a better ruse, and it was too much of a coincidence for the secret code to be a message that coherent, aimed at one of them.

"What issue is this?" Ianto asked.

Rebeca showed him the cover; it was from three months ago. Ianto sighed. Right when they began tracking new activity from the Rift. Clearly the world never intended to give him a break. "What do you think it means?" he said.

"I've been doing some research. There are no records of Shipwreck Island after the 1740s, and mentions of it before then are few and far between. I'd almost say someone's been wiping out all trace of it, if I could think of a reason why."

"But where is it? _What_ is it?"

"It's a mythical island, supposedly impenetrable except by those who know its secrets, and the stronghold of pirates."

"_Pirates?_"

She grinned. "It's connected to all sorts of myths. A Brethren Court of Pirate Lords, a final battle for the future of the seas, a great kraken larger than the grandest ship of the time, and even the Fountain of Youth. Think of any legend from the time period, and pirates following the codes of Shipwreck Island were linked to it."

That was all well and good, but what did it have to do with Jack? Surely he'd never been _that_ far back in the past? Jack had many secrets, but...

And then he realized what had been bothering him since he first heard the message, the real reason, he now realized, for his being so skeptical about its authenticity. _We shall meet _again. If the message was real, was the author a fellow time traveler, or a fellow immortal, or both? 

_Fountain of Youth..._ But no, that had no bearing on the present situation. Even if the aliens were after immortality, their actions were not those of seekers of a mystical Earth legend. Besides, the message was aimed at Jack. From a three-hundred year-old pirate? Unless the magazine itself was a hallucination brought on by a psychic field he couldn't sense around the house, or maybe an elaborate hoax. But if the aliens had that level of technology, why didn't they just use it on the hospital? Why weren't they using it to capture him right now?

"You think I'm insane, don't you?" Rebeca looked disappointed and vaguely hostile at the same time. "That's what my husband thought. Well _this_"--a raised middle finger--"is for _him._"

"Why are you showing me this?"

"You're from Torchwood."

Ianto would've groaned if he didn't think she might take it the wrong way. Was there no shred of secrecy left around their organization?

"You've been spying on your husband."

"I also know you know who Jack Harkness is." She shook a finger at him. "Naughty boy, keeping secrets to yourself, and after I procured a pair of pants for you."

"Where?" he asked, suddenly acutely aware of the breeze from the air conditioning caressing his buttocks. "I don't see any pants."

"I'll bring them to you if you cooperate. But they're as good as here already." She looked almost _pouty_, as though offended he didn't trust her. Well, he didn't, but if she could bring him pants...

"I have no idea what the message means," he said honestly. "Jack's never been further back in Earth history than 1850, or if he has, he's never told me or any of my co-workers."

"My husband's working with aliens," she deadpanned. Ianto frowned.

"I know," he replied. "But you don't think he's an alien himself?"

"Lord no!" she exclaimed. "I mean, if you've seen some of his personal habits, well, those he certainly didn't pick up from Mars. Florida, more likely. I've heard the men are very strange and disgusting there."

"What exactly do you want me to do!"

"Take me with you."

He sighed. That was what he'd expected, but... "I can't." Expecting some form of violent reaction, he tensed himself to intercept any move she might make, but instead, she stood, her face completely smooth, and swept out of the room. She returned a minute later with a pair of jeans.

"My husband's about the same size as you," she announced, stuffing it into his hands.

"You're not going to argue?"

Her voice was sultry as she replied, "I'll get what I want."

He tried to suppress a shiver and failed. Before she left to replace the _Playboy_, her eyes held a determination that reminded him of Jack. And Jack _always_ got his way.

**--**

"My mother never loved me!" Jarrod Talmage wailed, almost blowing his nose on Wilson's coat sleeve (he dodged just in time). The oncologist was fairly certain a gentle pat on the shoulder might be helpful right about then, but his other arm was also occupied--by the other soldier in the elevator, who was going on at length about the drug problems he'd had in middle school and how he felt they'd help him fit in after being labeled a teacher's pet.

"I'm sure she just didn't know how to show it," Wilson said. "You see, it's fairly common for parents to project their own wishes and desires on their children, sometimes to the point that it blinds them as to who their children really are. And because of that, even though your mother was doing what she thought best for you, it now seems she didn't love you. It's a classic case of breakdown in communication."

"But I just wanted to be a ballet dancer!"

The other man, Orrin Meeks, sat up straight. "Queer," he spat. Wilson punched him.

"This is a safe zone, Orrin," he reprimanded. "Everyone should feel loved."

"It's not fair!" Orrin retorted. "I was never loved! Never! Except by my teacher. And if she really loved me, she wouldn't have loved me!"

"Uh..."

"_I_ love you, Orrin!" Jarrod blinked. "Not like that, of course. It takes a real man to do ballet."

"How so?" Orrin looked thoughtful. "I mean, you're swinging around women dressed in tutus. It's the adult equivalent of playing with Barbie dolls."

"A Barbie with a real pussy! And you wouldn't think it, but damn, those anorexic chicks are heavy to toss around."

"Let's get back on topic," Wilson said. Orrin had a light in his eyes that suggested he was rethinking the manliness of ballet-dancing. "Come on, group hug!"

"I feel loved!" Orrin proclaimed after said hugging session was completed.

"Isn't that, like, step 7 of the recovery program for addicts?" Jarrod said, eyeing Wilson suspiciously. "Are you suggesting we're addicts?"

"Everyone craves love," Wilson said, rather enjoying himself. There was nothing like brightening someone else's day to make oneself feel better. "It's a fundamental human drive."

The two soldiers thought this over and decided to go to Broadway together once they finished their service.

A few more minutes passed, and Wilson announced, "I'm fairly certain rescue isn't forthcoming. I think it's time we tried to escape."

Jarrod's jaw dropped as his gaze moved up to the ceiling panel so often used in movies to escape similar situations. "You tricked us into talking for three and a half hours!"

Wilson shrugged. "What can I say. I'm good at that. You don't regret it, do you?"

At first, the two seemed on the verge of exploding into violence, but then Orrin shrugged and knocked out the panel. "You're lighter," he said, pointing at Wilson. "We'll lift you out first."

Forming a platform with their hands, they boosted Wilson up, and he soon found himself in the elevator shaft. An eerie silence had settled over the entire hospital so that no noise came through from the sealed exits above and below him. The car creaked as his weight shifted it about, sending the cables quivering and rattling.

"Can you take our guns?" Jarrod said, handing his rifle up to Wilson. Orrin simply tossed his into the air, causing Wilson to make a wild snatch for it.

"Shoot!" He cursed, which was a very appropriate thing to say, because at that moment, he lost his balance and knocked the rifle against the wall whereupon it discharged, sending a flurry of bullets ricocheting through the shaft. Sparks flew, and then a new sound entered the mix; it was the sound of fraying cables. "Uh guys..." Wilson said. "Brace yourselves."

The cable snapped, and the car plummeted. Steel girders raced up past him as Wilson grabbed hold of the opening into the cart and held on for his life. The elevator hit bottom with a jarring crash, sending Wilson through the open panel and into a jumble on the floor. Jarrod and Orrin were slammed against the walls, but despite the debris and dust that filled the car, both appeared relatively uninjured.

Wilson looked up and saw the doors had been forced open by the impact. Three soldiers stood outside, expressions of shock on their face. Then one pointed at him and screamed, "He's a terrorist!"

Wilson sighed and put his hands into the air.

**--**

The first sensation Jack felt was pain. A throbbing in his chest mixed with tingling as his muscles, skin and bones re-grew, expelling the bullet from his body.

Taste was the second sense to return, and he knew there was blood in his mouth. Even as he became aware of the tangy bitterness, however, it faded, flowing back down his throat and reuniting with his body. That part of the process, he reflected absently, had always felt really _weird_.

The smell of smoke filled his nostrils. It stung and carried an acrid tang like fumes from a burning battery. Then he heard sirens outside. That was a good sign; he hadn't been buried alive. He _hated_ it when that happened.

His heart began beating now, and he could hear pounding as his eardrums throbbed in sympathy with the flow of blood, mirroring the contractions in his chest. The tickling sensation of skin knitting itself back together faded away, and he knew it was time again.

A deep gasp accompanied the rush of oxygen back into his lungs, and his body spasmed as though revived by a defibrillator. Sitting up, his eyes opened. The room was as he'd left it: dark, messy and covered in blood. At first, he didn't see the two bodies crumpled in the shadow of Cuddy's desk, but as he stood, he noticed a glint of moonlight off something metallic. He gasped as he realized it was Cuddy's watch, still attached to a hand extending from beneath a corpse that had a high-heeled shoe sticking out of its neck.

He threw the body off her and was relieved to find Cuddy's chest still rising and falling. And jiggling... just a little bit.

With Posey's weight off her, Cuddy groaned and her eyes shot open. When she saw Jack, she screamed and threw herself backward away from him. Clutching her chest, she glared at him and remarked, "I thought you were dead."

"I was," Jack replied, offering her a hand. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. "And then I came back to life."

"You came back to life," she echoed in a deadpan.

"Yes," Jack confirmed briskly. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to House."

"You died, and then came back to life."

"Er, that is what I said, yes. And don't tell House." 

Cuddy spared the corpse an unreadable glance and then appeared to give up. "Oh, I don't intend to," she said, and Jack wasn't sure if that was because she didn't believe him or if she was lying. He thought she was taking the news quite well, but then again, a woman who would kill someone with her shoe was not one to take lightly.

"We should get out of here before Smythe comes," she added.

Jack's reply was cut off by the door bursting open. Cuddy let out a little shriek and grabbed Jack's arm, but Chase and Cameron turned out to be the new arrivals.

"Oh my god, what happened?" Chase exclaimed.

"You're covered in blood!" Cameron noted.

"Why are the lights off?" Jack asked, realizing the room was darker than it should be.

"Because aliens blew up the power generator," Chase replied. "And the parking garage," he added as an afterthought.

Cuddy closed her eyes and groaned, not bothering to check the view outside her window. Instead, she reached for the phone on her desk and hit the speed dial.

"House is only number 6 on your list?" Cameron asked.

"He's number 6 because there isn't a speed dial number 666," Cuddy replied. "Yes, House, where are you?"

Jack leaned closer and heard the man reply, "I'm in the middle of a surgery, Cuddy. We can have phone sex after I sew Gwen up."

"You're operating on _Gwen_?" Jack roared. Cuddy sighed and turned on the speakerphone, replacing the receiver. "In the middle of a blackout!"

"I'm a little more worried about the fact that you answered your _phone_ in the middle of it," she told him.

"Well, strictly speaking, a dedicated team from the Mayo clinic is operating with the room hooked up to a back-up generator that they brought specifically for this purpose."

Cuddy's jaw dropped. "Where did they come from? And are they free to give a lecture to the students sometime this week?" Jack glared at her.

"A man named Bilis went back in time and scheduled an appointment. He evidently doesn't trust me or Weinbacher to mess with his precious Gwen."

"Bilis! _Precious_?" Jack could feel his brain trying to commit suicide. "The Bilis with the _cravat_?"

"Yes," House replied rather sullenly.

"_Weinbacher_?" Cuddy said. "That crazy plastic surgeon I fired two years ago?"

"He got fired?" a woman screamed from House's end. "House! I'm going to kill you!"

"That's Tracy," House said. "She gets rather overwrought. It's the ovaries, you know."

"Why is Weinbacher in my hospital?" Cuddy shrieked. "He tried to give breast implants to two unconscious lupus patients!"

"You never managed to fire him. I stole the papers and used them to line Steve's cage. I have to steal a lot of your papers, because he pees a lot."

Cuddy gritted her teeth, her fingers reaching unconsciously for the high-heel still embedded in Posey's neck. Breathing heavily, she managed to control herself long enough to ask, "Where are you, House?"

House gave the room number and then added, "I really wish I could see your breasts heave right now."

Cuddy slammed down the "End Call" button and rounded on Chase and Cameron.

"We didn't know, I swear!" Chase squeaked. "I've never even heard of Weinbacher!"

When they arrived at the room, Tracy met them outside. "Where's House?" Cuddy demanded.

Tracy grimaced. "He's not here. He said he needed to pee, and that was right about when you hung up."

Which was over ten minutes ago, given the amount of time it took to sneak through the hospital while avoiding detection. Jack had suggested they hide under cardboard boxes to avoid suspicion, but Cameron thought that was a terminally stupid tactic.

"So you two escaped?" Tracy said brightly. "House told me all about your rescue attempt, Dr. Cameron."

"We all did. That's why the garage exploded," Cameron said. "Foreman and Owen went to the morgue to look for House, but clearly he's not there anymore. We should really pick them up."

"How's Gwen?" Jack asked.

"House found a tumor on the adrenal gland which caused the stroke and violent mood swings. The surgery to remove it is very dangerous, but the doctors finished an hour ago--House was lying on the phone--and she should be fine. However, a pheochromocytoma is very rare and House thinks it is a symptom of something else, so we still have to find the root cause, but at least she won't be in danger of dying anymore."

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. The door opened and a doctor poked his head out. "Uh, Nurse Kindle? She's waking up."

Tracy frowned. "The sedative shouldn't wear off this soon."

"There was some adrenaline released during the operation. We think that might be the reason. She's asking to see someone, though."

"Jack?" Tracy said, looking straight at him. He nodded thanks and entered. The doctors handed him a pair of shoes with suction cups on them, and he stared at it for a moment before noticing the blood on the floor.

"That's not Gwen's, is it?" he asked. The doctor shook his head, so Jack turned to Cuddy and whispered, "No matter what you see when you enter, _don't scream._"

Cuddy sighed.

Gwen was lying on a cot, having been moved from the operating table and carted to the end of the room. She was covered in blankets so that he could only see her face and a halo of black hair pillowed out under her head. She looked weak, and when she saw him, she could barely manage the smallest of smiles, but her eyes were expressive enough to make up for the lack. "You're back," she whispered.

"How are you feeling?" Jack asked, kneeling beside her.

"Awful."

A thousand things to say rushed through Jack's mind, from Bilis to House to the aliens to whether she was in pain, but nothing seemed appropriate. One and a half centuries had taught him the effectiveness of silence, though, so he smiled back at her, and she seemed satisfied.

"I'm going to kill House," Cuddy proclaimed, squishing her way through the room. "Where the hell could he be? He's a wanted man!"

"House?" Gwen said. "House is missing?"

"Don't worry about that, we'll find him," Jack said.

Gwen shook her head, the barest shifting of her head left and right. "He was acting... weird."

"Umm..." Tracy said, the utterance carrying the meaning: _House is always weird. And I'm going to kill him._

"No, it was... after the soldiers came in."

"You were conscious during that?"

"The doctors gave me a second sedative while you were yelling at House. But... _oh my god._"

"What? Is something wrong?" Jack asked. "Are you in pain?"

"The soldiers! They were wearing radiation scanners. And House saw them. And he knows we're searching for... _check my bag!_"

Jack strode over to a nearby chair where all of Gwen's belongings had been moved from the old room. Opening it, he checked the various pockets and found nothing. "Damn it," he muttered.

"What's happened?" Cuddy asked.

"House stole Gwen's radiation scanner. He's not hiding; he's searching for the alien artifact!"

"That thing's dangerous!" Cameron said. "I'm sure as hell not letting House get his hands on that again."

"Then we have to find it before he does," Cuddy replied. "Damn him and damn his curiosity."

"Whoa, who said anything about 'we'?" Jack threw his hands into the air. "You're not coming with me."

"We have a stake in this too, now," Cameron said.

"And your team is missing," Chase pointed out. "You need all the help you can get."

Jack hesitated. Half a minute passed without him making a decision, and he knew that alone was a mistake, but what they said was true, and they weren't incompetent. Finally, Gwen made the decision for him as she said, "I trust them, Jack."

Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt for Torchwood to gain a few more members. Besides, everything was going to change--it just wasn't supposed to happen like this. "All right, fine," he said, and he couldn't help but feel they'd all just committed to much more than a simple search.


	12. Chapter 8: Falling

**Chapter 8**

**Falling**

"There's no need to manhandle me. I'm being perfectly cooperative here," Wilson snapped, legitimately annoyed. Two of the three soldiers who had found him in the elevator were escorting him outside the hospital and, in Wilson's opinion, were being a little overly rough about it.

Both of them ignored him. As they marched through the lobby, they were joined by another uniformed man. "The holding space in the parking garage has been somehow destroyed," he informed them. "So we're to take him and any other prisoners to the Governor's mansion."

"It's just him," the particularly frowny soldier on Wilson's right growled. Wilson decided to call him Chuckles. 

"What?" said the soldier to Wilson's left. He was very muscled and brawny and over six feet tall, but stereotypically he seemed to be a little slow. Wilson decided he would be Bigs. The new soldier was shorter, younger, and skinnier than the other two and on top of that had a demeanor like a small dog, and so he was dubbed Junior.

"There are no other prisoners. It's just him," Chuckles clarified. 

"That's _it_? Didn't someone manage to round up the other four?" Junior's anxiety showed clearly on his face and in his body language. 

"No," Chuckles snapped. 

Wilson assumed the holding space they referred to had to be the trunk where Foreman and that friend of Gwen's were stuck, and was temporarily relieved by the revelation that they'd managed to escape. He also noted that Junior had said four people had escaped, and wondered who else had gotten stuck in a trunk.

He hoped it wasn't House. Wilson didn't ever want to deal with House after he'd been stuck in a cramped space all day with no Vicodin. The results would almost certainly be explosive and long-lived.

On the other hand, it wasn't really looking like he'd be seeing House anytime soon, anyway. It was annoying that that thought actually depressed him.

Bigs apparently decided Wilson was being too slow, jammed the end of his rifle into Wilson's back and Wilson, caught by surprise, yelped in an embarrassing way. They quickly exited the building and Wilson stopped to gape at the wreckage and scattered debris that was all that remained of the parking garage. He'd heard the explosion and the resulting thunder of heavy objects falling all over the place, but he hadn't paid it much mind; he'd been a little occupied with other things at the time. In retrospect, it seemed silly that he hadn't given it more thought. It wasn't like there were massive explosions at hospitals every day. It was dark out, but Wilson would easily see the remains of a power generator smoked gently off to one side. Bigs jammed his rifle into Wilson's back again.

"Keep moving," he said. The way he spoke was indistinct and Wilson had trouble making out what he was saying whenever he talked, but this he was pretty clear on. Resigned to his fate and assuming the day couldn't get any worse, Wilson trudged on, flanked by the three guards.

They'd only gotten a couple hundred yards away from the hospital when an old man appeared in front of them. Wilson stared blearily at him, and it registered somewhere in the back of his mind that this was the same man he'd interacted with earlier. His mind wasn't currently active enough to take that thought any further, so he set it aside.

"Oh good," the man said mildly. "You are Dr. Wilson, aren't you?"

Absently, Wilson noted that the man was wearing a cravat and wondered if he'd been wearing it earlier. After some brief thought, he decided he probably had been. He nodded an affirmative to the man's question, assuming nothing he could do could possibly get him into a worse situation than he was in already.

"Good, good, I had a bit of a time finding you. Let's get out of here, shall we?" 

"Excuse me," Chuckles cut in. "I don't think anyone's going anywhere without my say-so." The man in the cravat frowned at him. Bigs did not bother to waste time with such pleasantries. He aimed his rifle and shot without a pause. The old man vanished and the bullet hit a large piece of cement instead. Wilson belatedly recalled that his name had been Bilis, then wondered if that could possibly be correct.

Junior gaped at where the man had been, then started jumping around excitably. "Is he a ninja or something? How does he get around so fast? Where'd he go?" Before anyone else could get a word in, Bilis reappeared a few feet away from where he'd been before and fixed them all with an affronted look.

"That was rude!" he said. This time, Bigs and Chuckles both shot at him, but he predictably vanished again before their bullets could touch him. This happened once more and by that time, all three of the soldiers were getting really antsy. 

"What are we supposed to do?" Junior wailed.

"Shut up," Chuckles growled. "Just keep moving, and quickly. Ignore him."

"D'hurrr... How's he doin' that?" Bigs said.

"It doesn't matter. Just get moving. We just have to get to the truck."

The started moving again, at a faster pace than before. They didn't seem to have much regard for Wilson's comfort, and he was constantly jabbed or stepped on in the rush. They made it to a large truck painted an ugly color of green and Wilson was shoved in the back seat with Bigs. Chuckles revved the engine and then peeled out, heading in what Wilson assumed was the general direction of Drumthwacket, though he couldn't really see past Bigs' bulk to make sure. 

Less than a minute had passed before Bilis appeared out of nowhere in the empty seat next to Wilson, smiling pleasantly. Junior shouted in surprise, startling Chuckles and causing him to swerve into the other lane and nearly hit an oncoming car.

"Christ!" he yelled, then glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Bilis. He let out a short string of expletives, ending with "shoot it already you stupid shits!" Bigs couldn't get his rifle out in the cramped space, but Junior had a handgun and he obediently emptied a round of bullets into the empty seat where Bilis had been a moment before.

"Really, boys," Bilis said when he reappeared, looking disapproving. "I'd expect better from America's finest!"

"So," Wilson said, getting impatient, "are you going to rescue me or what? Because all these stray bullets are making me nervous."

"So sorry about that, but I do need a couple seconds to concentrate if I'm to transport you as well, and these young men aren't really affording me much," Bilis replied, staring pointedly at the soldiers. All three gaped at him. 

"Watch out!" Wilson shouted as the truck nearly went off the road and into a telephone pole. Chuckles threw his attention back to the road just in time and they swerved back onto the road. Junior was frantically trying to reload his gun, but his hands were shaking too badly to manage it. 

"Wonderful," Bilis said, grabbing Wilson's hands. "Now just be quiet for a short while..."

Then they both vanished together, leaving a bewildered trio of soldiers behind.

"So... what now?" asked Bigs cautiously.

**--**

House hit Gwen's radiation detector in the hopes that it would pick up a reading. "You're almost as useless as the chick who owns you," he told it. "And that's only because she keeps finding new ways to kill herself every five minutes."

_Beep._

House froze. A spike drifted across the screen and vanished. It was like the machine had been sticking its tongue out at House behind his back but had been caught. He pointed the scanner in the direction he'd been facing when it went off, but nothing happened.

"Your momma was so ugly people thought she was a rejected Blackberry model."

_Beep!_

A bigger spike. As long as the reading wasn't somehow out of spite, the situation was looking brighter. House was still wary though. Trust the British to come up with a machine that tricked you if you insulted it. So he walked up to an intersection, shook it some more and yelled, "I bet the shop had to label you as secondhand before anyone would buy you!" He liked that one, because it reflected poorly on Jack Harkness as well.

A series of blips appeared when the device faced right, so House took the turn, feeling pleased with himself.

**--**

"House can't have left the building," Jack said. "The military would be watching all the entrances."

The others, so fierce when declaring themselves part of the search, no longer looked as certain as they had a few minutes ago. Once the magnitude of the task became apparent, it was hard to approach it with any amount of confidence. After all, Torchwood had spent a day searching for the alien artifact to no avail--the fact that House was running around with it in his pocket notwithstanding--and the radiation would have faded so much at this point that the scanners would pick up more hits from interference than the actual trail, even if it hadn't been pretty much everywhere in the hospital by now.

"House doesn't do things without reason," Cuddy said. "Even if the reason is sometimes completely inane." She turned to Chase. "And you are _not_ allowed to tell him I said that."

"So you're suggesting he might have thought of something I didn't?"

Cuddy shrugged. "It's possible. His mind works in strange ways."

"On the other hand, maybe seeing the scanner reminded him that there's an alien artifact somewhere nearby, and if there's anything he can't resist, it's a new puzzle," Cameron said. "He might have Gwen's scanner, but he must realize it's next to worthless."

"Unless there's something we missed," Chase added.

"Like the creepy old man in clothing from the nineteenth century standing in the corner with Wilson?"

Chase whirled around to face the direction Cameron was pointing and jumped. Embarrassingly, Jack did the same thing. Luckily for him, no one noticed.

"Who the hell are you?" Chase demanded.

Jack was interested to see Wilson stagger out from behind Bilis. He'd never known Bilis could teleport others as well, and that could be a useful piece of information, though he assumed it made sense, because Bilis managed to bring his clothes and other inanimate objects with him wherever he went. The image of a nude Bilis flashed in his mind, and he pondered it an instant before deciding that he needed to make a few more limits for himself.

"I'm Bilis Manger," he said. "Where is Dr. House?"

"Why is everyone looking for House?" Cuddy snapped.

"Because I brought him his Wilson. He said I wouldn't be allowed to see Ms. Cooper unless I rescued his Wilson from the National Guard."

"Interesting," Cameron said. Chase glared at her.

Wilson focused on Bilis and protested, "I don't belong to anyone!"

"Of course not." Cuddy patted his shoulder and led him off into a corner. "Where are your pills?"

"I'm off the pills. Really, I'm fine! Why is the floor covered in blood?"

Bilis watched the proceedings with a disinterested air. Jack took advantage of his temporary distraction to close the distance between them and seize him by the cravat. "What are you doing here, Bilis? And if you try to teleport away, I swear I'll shoot on sight next time I see you."

"I'm here to woo Ms. Cooper."

"Excuse me?"

"Woo. As in the first syllable of 'whoozy,' which is how she shall feel from the love that bursts in her mind when she sees me and realizes the deep connection we share."

Jack pondered this a moment and decided it was so absurd he couldn't be lying. Bilis was clever enough to think of a better story if he wanted to lie. Nevertheless, his mind rebelled against the thought of Bilis and Gwen together. "I don't think Gwen needs more things bursting in her brain. And shouldn't you be sacrificing goats to the son of Abbadon or something?"

Bilis took hold of Jack's hand and pushed it away firmly. For a moment, Jack felt a burning heat radiate from the old man. "Abbadon had no son, thanks to you."

"Hey, it's not my fault he didn't know when to stop. Like a goldfish, eat eat eat, that's all it can think of, and then _kerplowy_."

Bilis glared, but then the next instant, his expression was smooth again. "Yes, well, I doubt he was fertile anyway, and it's been rather boring ever since. I mean, I spend all my life plotting to bring about the end of the world, and then what happens? The end of the world has to go and eat itself to death. Naturally, my life was rather devoid of meaning for a while after that, but then I remembered Ms. Cooper and how she made me feel all tingly when she touched me in my little shop. If you know what I mean."

Jack noticed Chase doing a reasonable impression of a blowfish but ignored him. "Yeah, we don't care about your little shop, and I really don't think Gwen cares about how you feel... down there. I also don't think she appreciates you stabbing her boyfriend."

"Oh yes, speaking of Mr. Williams, there's something you should know."

Jack's expression darkened. "You killed him again?"

"No, no, no, how crude. His death last time was merely a means to an end. I do not believe in killing my competitors, Captain Harkness. No, if I triumph, it shall be because I have proven myself superior in every way, and all shall acknowledge my victory."

"I've heard things about Rhys, and I think there's at least one department in which he has you beat."

Bilis fixed him with a stern look that made him seem to belong to a nineteenth century painting. "As I was saying, there's something you ought to know."

"If you haven't done anything to him, I fail to see how he could get into any trouble worth concerning me."

Bilis smiled, and shivers ran down Jack's spine.

**--**

Cardiff was lovely at mid-day. A cool sea breeze had brushed the clouds from the sky, repainting it baby blue. The unoccupied plaza before the Millennium Centre benefited from the additional light and glowed so brightly it looked like polished marble.

Though Rhys Williams didn't walk to this part of the city often, a whim had led his feet here, and he stood before the fountain, watching his reflection in the cascading ripples. Gwen had only been gone a couple of days, but he found himself missing her. They'd had their fair share of arguments since her promotion, but after the first few turbulent months, her hours grew more regular, and their relationship had benefited from it. Now she was gone again, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to see their lives go downhill again. The fact that he hadn't heard from her since she left only served to amplify that feeling.

He had thought a walk might clear his mind, but it seemed to be doing the opposite instead. The more he thought about things, the more muddled his thoughts became.

He sighed, and in response, his stomach growled. Some chips, he decided, might help his mood. He turned around and began to head for the nearest pub, but he didn't even get three steps before he stepped onto a bit of ground that wasn't as solid as it appeared, and suddenly he was falling straight down. He caught a brief glimpse of a spacious underground room, but then he hit the floor. His head knocked against something and everything went dark.

**--**

"Rhys _fell_ down the invisible lift?" Jack repeated, incredulous. He wanted nothing more than to borrow someone's phone and yell at all his employees about forgetting to lock up the base before leaving. He thought about it a little longer, decided there was no reason why he couldn't, and stole Chase's phone. He pointed a finger at Bilis. "This is not saying I believe you." Bilis just looked at him with that insufferable air of patience.

The phone rang several times before Tosh picked up. "Hey Tosh, it's Jack," he said, trying his best to sound cheery.

"Aliens who want me dead are chasing me with bloodhounds right now," Tosh replied, "so this better be urgent!"

"Did you remember to close the invisible lift hole?"

The line went dead. Jack returned the phone to Chase. "How rude. That _was_ urgent."

"So is that Ms. Cooper over there?" Bilis said, pointing at Gwen's cot.

"Yes, but she's sleeping," Tracy said. Bilis ignored her and walked over. Jack ran after him and arrived in time to see him running his fingers down Gwen's cheek and making cooing sounds. Jack prepared to grab him, but Tracy got there first and smacked him so hard he went flying into the wall.

"I do believe that was uncalled for, my dear," Bilis said.

"Shut up," Jack said. "All right, so I believe you. I don't trust you, but I believe you. Gwen's not getting better until House diagnoses her, so we don't need him off on some treasure hunt that he's unqualified to be undertaking anyway. What can you do to help us?"

"I'm not your hound. I can travel through space and time, but I can't sniff him out."

Jack grinned, then fished a tracker out of his pocket. He set its frequency to match the receiver's, then handed it over to Bilis. "Do you remember how long ago you were talking to House in this room."

"Of course."

"Put this tracker on him while he and Tracy are busy talking to yourself."

Bilis smiled. "You are a crafty man, Captain Harkness." He blinked out of existence, then reappeared a second later. "It is done."

"That's a little weird," Tracy remarked. Jack shrugged, then turned on the receiver. A red dot pinged on the screen, showing House was headed for the morgue. He motioned to the others and ran out the door. As they left, he noticed Bilis moving toward Gwen again, but Tracy gestured menacingly with her hand and he stepped back. Pulling up a stool, she sat down next to her patient and nodded to Jack.

**--**

Almost immediately after splitting off from Cameron and Chase, Owen and Foreman ran into a group of soldiers, cutting off their route. They had to sneak back around to the emergency exit and find another way in. Luckily, they didn't have too hard of a time getting back into the hospital via the front doors. The National Guard seemed to be in a bit of a disarray, and the hospital staff was taking a no-nonsense approach to dealing with the soldiers. 

Wherever the officers were, they weren't in the lobby, and so the soldiers were being assigned menial tasks by nurses, like cleaning up and filing unimportant paperwork. Meanwhile, the majority of the civilians who had been in the clinic were filtering out slowly, and the soldiers were for the most part letting them go after confirming the weren't on the list. Of course, there were those people who loved to be in the middle of the action, and they were excitedly trying to find out what was going on by questioning the soldiers and the nursing staff, neither of which appeared very receptive to them.

Owen and Foreman slipped past the two men left guarding the door by entering as a group of people left and then ducking behind a counter. From there it was easy to get to the morgue. 

House wasn't there, but it was fairly obvious that he had been recently. No one else in the hospital could cause such chaos.

The morgue was dark and dank as usual, but now there was the odor of blood overlaying the usual overly sterile smell. There were also several unconscious uniformed men on the floor near the bottom of the stairs. Owen kicked one and when he didn't respond, they pushed them all under the tables and put white sheets over them. If nothing else, it'd leave them extra confused and disoriented when they woke up. 

There were also several dents in the wall. They ignored those.

"Well, obviously House isn't down here," Foreman said when they'd finished moving the soldiers. "Should we go look for him somewhere else?"

"You know what? I'm actually not that enthusiastic about the idea of going back up there," Owen said. "I mean, it's fairly calm now, but you never know when hell might break loose again, and I honestly feel safer down here. Additionally, House is a bit of a bastard and I'm not that keen on actually finding him." 

Foreman laughed. "Try working with him! He's really insufferable."

"Is he always so... violent and sarcastic? And cranky?"

"It's usually worse. He has no tolerance for other humans. Except Wilson, oddly. And sometimes Cuddy."

"I noticed," Owen said dryly. "Still, I bet my boss is worse."

"Impossible! You obviously don't know House very well." If there was one contest in the world that Foreman was absolutely positive he could win, it was the Worst Boss contest. 

"It's not that Jack's a bad guy," Owen continued, "it's just that he's got these really annoying habits. Like, he'll screw _anyone_, and he does! Even worse, women always seem to find him more attractive than me. So when we all go to a pub after work, guess who's inevitably going to end up going home alone? Me! And I normally have no trouble picking up girls!" 

"That's your problem with him?" Foreman laughed. "He's got nothing on House, then! I can't say I've ever been out drinking with him and I'd never want to, but I can imagine it'd be something close to hell."

"That's not the only problem! Recently, he just disappeared for a week! Without tell anyone. We didn't really know what to do. Then he came back with this stupid excuse and of course, everyone just forgives him. Ugh, it's so annoying."

"Basically, your biggest issue with your boss is that he's too likable?" Foreman said.

"Er..." Owen said.

"House is cruel, sarcastic, egotistical, pushy, acerbic, and a drug addict. He makes us do things that are barely legal, and the whole time he's throwing insults at us. He's unbelievable."

"If you hate him so much, why are you still working for him?" Owen asked. Foreman sighed.

"As much as I hate to say it, he's the best damn doctor I know, and I've learned more from him than I ever thought possible. But you met him, you know what he's like."

"He kept hitting me over the head with his cane!" 

"Yeah, he's really possessive over that whiteboard."

"Can't he find something better to be possessive over?"

**--**

"Do you think we can make it back to the car?" Tosh asked as they crawled through the bushes. Monty shook his head, and she heard several barks from just around the corner. They'd managed to make it to the front of the mansion without being caught, but it looked like their luck was out.

"The good news is the dogs should be a little calmer now that they've been out a while without finding any prey."

"Great, so they'll be able to identify our corpses afterward."

Monty rolled his eyes, "No, I meant that if they're calm enough not to bite the first thing they see, they should recognize me as someone friendly. They won't attack."

"Are you really willing to give it a try?"

"I see no other choice." Monty stood up, put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Tosh pulled out the alien device and wondered if dogs were religious. If they were, she hoped 'Thou shalt not maul humans' was one of their commandments.

She didn't have long to worry, though. As soon as Monty revealed himself, the dogs started charging. "Sit!" Monty roared, holding out his arm in a command to stop. Tosh's heart leapt at the unexpected tone of authority. When he wanted to, Monty knew how to make people listen. Plus he had really nice arms. _Calm down, now is not the time for a hormone rush._ Especially when she knew Monty was part of the conspiracy, he had to be. No one fell in love that fast. No one. That was the moment she realized she'd been manipulated again, and she still felt numb from the knowledge. She wished she could believe his words rather than her suspicions, but lives were at risk, and she couldn't stake everyone's fate on a romantic flight of fancy.

The dogs fell over each other skidding to a halt. Tosh's heart pounded, and she told herself it was only the adrenaline from nearly being mauled. "Well, that worked out nicely."

Monty nodded and clapped his hands together as though brushing dirt off them. "I told you, I'm just that good-- AAARGH!" A dog jumped from the front porch and landed on Monty, sinking its teeth into his arm. The rest of the pack followed suit, howling like wolves. Tosh dodged to the side, avoiding the falling dogs but not the slobber spilling from their mouths. Monty noticed her pointing the alien device at the dog on top of him, and his eyes widened.

"No! What if you miss?" He squeezed his eyes shut as she thought, _Activate!_ and a flash of light turned the world white. A shrill screech burst through the air, followed by that deafening silence, and when Tosh's vision returned, she saw Monty laying in a fetal position on the grass. The dog had disappeared.

"Monty?" she asked, afraid for him despite herself.

"Damn it, Tosh, that was the scariest thing anyone's ever done to me. And that _includes_ the bloody hound trying to bite my arm off."

"Don't be stupid," she said, but inside, she felt a wave of relief. The rest of the bloodhounds were sitting on their haunches now, licking their lips and staring at them with puppy-dog eyes. Kneeling down, she examined Monty's arm and tsked. "This is going to need medical attention. You should reveal yourself to the Governor. He'll be expecting you, anyway, since you showed your ID to security."

"Right, that might be a good idea. Hopefully he won't be suspicious, and... what the hell is that dog doing?"

Tosh followed Monty's gaze to the wall, where one of the hounds was whining a high-pitched keen and bashing its head against the wall. She watched in fascination as it struck with a loud _thunk_, backed up two feet, then charged forward again.

"I think that was the one attacking you," Tosh said.

Monty scratched his head. "I thought the device converted things into religious fanatics."

"Right, well..." Tosh frowned. _Thunk, thunk, thunk_. "I guess it sort of makes sense."

"I still don't understand why those dogs attacked me," Monty said. "They must've been really riled up. You think that second pack was chasing someone else?"

"Who else would be here? I mean--" Tosh sighed as her phone vibrated again. She picked it up and snapped, "I don't remember if we closed the invisible lift, Jack!"

"Oh shoot," Ianto's voice came from the speaker. "I knew I forgot something."

"Ianto? Sorry, I thought you were... never mind. What's going on?"

"I'm in Drumthwacket. Are you all right? I got chased by these dogs, and I thought they might be after you."

Monty glared at her phone for lack of a better target. Tosh shrugged and mouthed, _It's not his fault._ "We're okay," she said. Monty glowered some more, so she added: "Mostly."

"Good. If you're inside, I can get you to safety, but be careful. Jack just called and he says the hospital's in lockdown. All our names are on a terrorist list, along with our pictures. They know who you are, so don't try tricking anyone you meet. Just avoid all contact."

Tosh breathed in deeply and hissed through her teeth. "We're outside. Monty was going to try to get us in, but if that's the case..." _It's now or never._ She turned to Monty and said, "You need to get that wound looked at. Go in without me and I'll try to find one of the hidden entrances."

Monty shook his head. "I know where some of them are... approximately. You'll never find them without me. I'll be fine." He gave her a weak smile. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Good luck, then," Ianto replied, which was the most unhelpful thing he could have said. _Can't he convince Monty? Scare him into leaving me!_ But he just added, "Call me when you get in." The phone flashed as he hung up.

Tosh sighed. She gestured at Monty: "Take off your shirt."

"Uh..."

"Do it!" she snapped. She regretted her outburst the instant it left her mouth, but Monty nodded and complied. From the look of sympathy on his face, he understood her anger was from frustration that she couldn't get him to safety. _If only he knew the full story. Would he be angry at me?_ But no, that implied he was innocent, and she knew better.

Taking the shirt, she tore off the sleeve that had been torn by the dog and used the rest of it as a bandage around his arm. He grimaced as she worked, but she had to do the thing properly. As properly as she could without antiseptics, anyway.

"That should slow the bleeding for now, but it needs to be disinfected. And know this, if you seem to be bleeding too much, I _will_ get myself caught if that means keeping you alive." She froze at the vehemence in her voice, but she knew it was true. Even if Monty was a spy, she wasn't willing to let him die. Jack had told them after he returned from his absence that Torchwood was different now. Preserve life whenever possible, that was how he'd explained it. _And Monty... as for Monty... well, god but does he have nice arms._ Toshiko let out a choked gasp, half sob, half laugh. Monty just took her hand in his, and for a moment, she was lost in his gaze.

"I guess we're going to have to find the entrance fast, then," he said. "Come on." He bounded to his feet with almost his usual energy and pulled her up with his uninjured arm. Seeing no choice, she ran after him. Behind them, the other bloodhounds continued to observe the single dog repeatedly running into the wall. Then, one by one, they each started following suit.

A few minutes later, Tosh realized Monty was leading her into the gardens. Their path was interrupted several times by more roving packs or a few guards, but the dogs were mostly stretching their legs at this point, and the guards were so terrified of the dogs they didn't notice other humans on the lawn. As they moved deeper into the flower beds and rows of trees, the encounters grew less frequent until Monty stopped at the edge of a stone patio.

"This should be it. Rumor is that one of the trellises has a touch plate embedded in that causes some of the stones to slide open."

Tosh ran to the walls of latticework and brushed away the flowers. Pressing her scanner against the wood, she ran the device over until it beeped. "Here, the wood is reading as harder than the surroundings. It probably has metal underneath." She pressed her fingers against it and smiled as she heard a rumbling behind her.

Five stones rotated out from their positions and slid under their neighbors to reveal a ladder dropping into darkness. Monty ran up to it, nearly stumbling as he stopped at the edge. Tosh placed a hand on his shoulder as support and noticed his pale face.

"Are you sure you're fine?"

He nodded. "I should go first in case I lose my grip and fall on you."

"Maybe I can go on alone."

"Toshiko, stop trying to lose me. I feel better knowing I'm by your side to protect you."

He was about to go down when her scanner beeped again. The display lit up with waves of red. "The infrared sensor is picking up a large number of people down there." She glared at him. "This entrance is defended."

Monty looked surprised at her accusatory tone. "I'm sorry, but this is the only one I know about. If we can't risk breaking into the house, this is our best bet. I'm still the governor's aide, aren't I? I'll make the guards listen."

"Don't you think regular guards are more likely to accept your word?"

"They all should. I do have security clearance, and in the darkness down there, they'll be less likely to see you or recognize you. Please, let's hurry." He didn't wait for a reply as he grabbed hold of the ladder and started descending. Tosh bit her lip, but she placed the scanner in her bag and followed him into the pitch black.

**--**

When Ianto hung up, Rebeca was still staring at him with a creepy, predatory gaze. She had agreed to help him harbor Tosh after discovering she was part of Torchwood as well. He supposed she thought that having more of them present meant a better chance of getting whatever she wanted. In the meantime, she had a pair of scissors in her hands and kept threatening to cut off his pants if he tried to leave the room. His father having been a tailor, he felt this was a great misuse of the power of scissors.

"So Monty Pike's helping your friend out. Interesting. He never struck me as the type to go against his boss."

"You're absolutely sure Governor Streed is helping the aliens?"

"If he isn't, then I'm not Mrs. Streed."

Ianto pondered her comment for a moment, but she seemed to take this as a sign of infidelity and snapped the scissors menacingly. "Uh, so, I've been wondering," he stammered, trying to change the topic, "I keep hearing Governor Streed this, Governor Streed that. What's your husband's first name, anyway?"

"Governor."

"All right..." Ianto said. "What's the governor's first name?"

"No, you fool. His first name _is_ governor."

"That's a little presumptuous, isn't it?"

"It's a perfectly legitimate name."

"He didn't change it after taking office?"

"Of course not. Why would he do that? It'd be hell for the ballots and name recognition."

"Well, everyone would hear his name and know he was governor."

The scissors snapped again. He wasn't doing well at staying on her good side. At least, not when he had pants on. He thought about this for a moment as well, then quickly dismissed the notion from his mind. A lascivious smile lit up her face, as though she knew what he was thinking. He backed up from where he was sitting on her bed until he was on top of the pillows, but she never moved from her position on the chair beside her desk.

"I'm a little thirsty," he said, remembering that he'd smelled whiskey when he first entered the room. Maybe the thought of getting him drunk would have the same effect on her.

Sure enough, she turned around, cracked open a picture frame and withdrew a bottle. "Do you want to do the honors?" she asked.

_Perfect._ "I assume you keep the glasses in the bathroom." He took the bottle from her. She nodded, and he left, trying not to appear hurried. Once inside, he flipped through the drawers and located everything he needed. As he withdrew two shot glasses, he slipped a laxative into one of them and poured out the drinks. When he returned, she downed the entire shot without waiting for him.

"Another?"

She waved him away, so he went back to his spot on the bed and sipped his slowly, savoring it as he might a cup of fresh-brewed coffee. A few minutes later, he heard a gurgle, followed by an, "Urp." He glanced over and saw her face contorted like smoke some time after leaving a cigarette.

"You bastard," she said before making a mad dash for the bathroom.

"Sorry!" he called after her. Pocketing the scissors, he strolled out the door, whiskey bottle and glass still in hand.

He'd questioned Rebeca about the layout of the house, and if she hadn't lied, the governor should be in his favorite lounge on the first floor where he entertained his guests. He proceeded to the stairs, which two guards were ascending.

"Hello," Ianto said.

"Who are you?" 

"Fancy a drink?" The two were close enough that they didn't have time to react before the bottle and glass flew through the air and slammed into their heads, shattering and sending them reeling down the stairs. Ianto stepped over them, feeling a little guilty for injuring them as much as he had, and ran for it.

He slowed down as he approached the lounge. Tip-toeing up to the door, he heard voices beyond.

"I'm afraid, Governor, the situation at Princeton-Plainsboro has escalated to a point where drastic measures are necessary."

"Really, my National Guard are sufficient for the task. The place is a mess already, but the last thing we need are aliens storming the building with hundreds if not thousands of witnesses we aren't able to silence."

That was odd, Ianto mused. The other man had to be the attorney general; he was the only guest of note present tonight. Yet if the governor was deferring to him, then that had to mean the attorney general was the alien! He leaned closer.

"Your men are unreliable! Just look at Montgomery Pike. The Torchwood woman should've been ours at the tow yard, but we held back because he was accompanying her. If you can't even control your aide, how are we supposed to trust you with an army?"

"Well, I'm afraid Pike can be a bit overzealous at times. I assure you, he has his orders now. That wasn't even a complete loss. You did manage to fix up the van as a transmat reception point."

There was a loud crash as the attorney general apparently slammed his fist onto a table. Or maybe through the table. "You will follow orders or you will be destroyed! Do not talk back to me! The time for negotiation is over."

"Please, give me two more hours. You won't be displeased, I promise."

There was a pause before the alien said, "Oh I'm certainly pleased right now. At least one of you can do things right."

"Excuse me?"

"We have one of the members of Torchwood in custody now."

_Tosh!_ Ianto backed away from the door, preparing to go to her rescue. He bumped into something soft. Or rather, _someone_ soft. A sharp edge pressed against his neck, and he smelled cigarette smoke.

"You don't think I only had one pair, did you?" Rebeca asked as she drew the scissors along his skin, leaving a thin trickle of blood. "Honestly, you can't say I didn't give you a chance. But if you aren't going to bring me aliens, I'm just going to have to catch them myself." Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "And you'll be my bait."

She slammed her free hand into his side right where the robot had slashed him earlier in the day. The injuries burned like fire, and he felt the bandages go wet as he collapsed to the floor. The door opened and Attorney General Howell stepped through. He flickered, fading in and out of existence for a fraction of a second, and then he extended a hand to Rebeca.

"Well done, Mrs. Streed."

"Please, call me Rebeca," she said. With a wink at her husband following the attorney general through the door, she added, "I don't think I'll be Mrs. Streed much longer."

Howell nodded. "Governor, an interesting option presents itself to me. Perhaps you should personally lead the Guard at Princeton-Plainsboro, and I'll take over here. How does that sound?"

Streed stiffened. "Pike won't listen to you."

Howell's eyes held nothing human in them as he turned on Streed, advancing until he'd backed the governor up against a wall. "I don't need him to listen. In fact, I don't even need him to be alive."

The governor whimpered as he sidled out of Howell's presence. At the threshold of the room, he managed a faint bow and stammered, "As you say." He disappeared faster than the road runner, though there was a disappointing lack of smoke clouds in his wake.

Howell returned his attention to Ianto, and this time, he let the entire disguise slide. A whirl of colors accompanied the disappearance of his human form, and an alien of the same species that attacked in the hospital stood before him. One tentacle drifted up to Ianto's face, the eyeball at the end making wet squishing sounds as it twisted about, surveying him with a sort of manic glee. Then one of its arms grabbed hold of his neck and forced him back to his feet.

"You are the human involved with Jack Harkness," Howell pronounced. Out of the corner of his eye, Ianto saw Rebeca staring the alien, greedily devouring its appearance as though it were an oasis in a desert. He judged she was indeed playing her own game rather than serving the aliens, just as she'd told him, but clever as she might be, her meddling would backfire in the end. He didn't intend to be there to save her when it did. Howell was too busy examining Ianto to notice. "You will cause him to spring our trap."

"No chance of that, I'm afraid," Ianto replied.

Howell gurgled. "You are his lover!"

"But he doesn't love me."

The skin on the alien rippled, as though Ianto had thrown a stone into a perfectly placid lake and disturbed everything. _Hyurk, hyurk, hyurk_ came the noise from deep inside its body, and Ianto realized it was laughing at him. Before he realized what he was doing, he pulled the scissors from his pocket and stabbed it into the eye closest to him. Howell let out a shrieking roar strong enough to shake the entire house. As the hallucination reasserted itself, the human Howell fell backward, clutching his face as blood spewed forth from one eye socket. He punched Ianto in the stomach, knocking him into Rebeca and sending both of them flying into the next room.

Disentangling himself from her, Ianto stood and dashed for the exit, but she grabbed hold of his leg and twisted. He fell, more from the fact that she had a knack for hitting him where others had attacked him first than from her strength alone, and then guards burst in from all directions, each with a gun ready and aimed. He put his hands up.

Howell emerged through the doorway, his left eye an empty socket glowing red. "You will regret that, Jones," he hissed, his voice a combination of garbled tones, as though five people and a synthesizer were all speaking at once. "You will regret that very much. My species believes in an eye for an eye."

"Do you expect me to let you do that?"

The attorney general grabbed his shirt, smearing it with blood, and pulled him close. His face centimeters from Ianto's, he bared his teeth and replied, "No, Mr. Jones. I expect you to die."

Rebeca choked back a giggle, and the guards shifted on their feet as they pondered whether they were serving the right person. After all, the insane bad guys always lost, and usually a few of the guards got fed to piranhas along the way, or at least got pushed into vats of industrial waste. Having failed to grow up as a movie buff, Howell glanced over to see why they were laughing, and the momentary distraction was more than enough time for Ianto to press The Button on Jack's wristband.

Since Union Station, Ianto had modified it slightly. Scary as Britney Spears' music was, the song hadn't been the main point of the attack. What the button actually did was emit a very low frequency sound that was below the threshold of human hearing but caused an intense feeling of unease--a similar phenomenon tended to occur in "haunted" houses and other eerie locations. Jack programmed the device to use a combination of sounds to key into the fear portions of the human brain, thus causing widespread panic. The song had merely been the object of terror that people locked onto. However, Ianto felt that was exceedingly low-brow humor. Instead, he held up his arm and yelled, "Drumthwacket is out of coffee beans! There is only generic instant left in the kitchens!"

The room emptied faster than a singles' bar on Valentine's Day, leaving only Rebecca and Howell. He suspected nothing would ever faze Rebeca and remembered too late that the device wouldn't work on an alien. He ducked as Howell swung at him, but the man caught the back of his suit jacket and it tore off with a loud rip.

"I have one suit left!" Ianto yelled at him. "One! And it's in a rental car! Do you have any idea how upset I'm getting?"

Howell tossed the jacket aside. "Actually," he said, making that squelching _hyurk-hyurk_ sound again, "your rental car blew up."

Ianto punched him, hard.

**--**

Jack held a finger up to his lips and shushed his followers. Cameron drew to an immediate stop, causing Chase to run into her. Cuddy then stepped on his foot with her high heels.

"I think my big toe's broken!" Chase screamed, hopping up and down on one foot as he clutched the other.

"You broke my foot?" Cameron exclaimed. "We're _this_ close to getting our bodies back, and you have to break my foot now?"

"Shut up!" Jack said, to no avail. Sighing, he directed the three of them into a nearby room and while they were distracted, shut the door and ran off. When he got far enough that Chase's complaints no longer drowned everything else out, he paused to listen for what he'd thought was House's voice.

"And I mean, look at that paint job. I bet, yep, says right there, 'Made in China.' I bet you're covered in date rape drugs. I'm _crippled_ and I don't need date rape drugs to get laid. How sad does that make you? I bet you're full of viruses too. I hope you gave some to Jack Harkness when he tried to get in your pants. Not that you wear any pants, _whore_."

Jack contemplated this string of insults and couldn't come up with a single possibility for the object of House's scorn. It made no sense, and he could feel his eyebrows trying to crawl up his forehead as his brain worked. One thing was for sure, though: the staff at Princeton-Plainsboro were worse at being discreet than Torchwood, and that was saying something.

"Frank Zappa wouldn't name his kids after you if you were the only thing left in the world!"

Thing? Then everything clicked, and Jack ran to the intersection to intercept House. "So beating up Gwen isn't enough; you have to take it out on her radiation scanner as well."

House looked genuinely surprised to see him. The man must really have been enjoying his tirade not to realize half the hospital could hear him. "It's not my fault your team's equipment sucks."

"That device is one hundred percent Earth manufactured."

"Probably why it sucks."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Yes, but it also _can't hear you._ What are you thinking?" He snatched the scanner away from the doctor and saw a flat line.

"See?" House said. "It's a masochist."

Jack pulled his tiny screwdriver out of his pocket and flipped the back panel open. "Tell me, doctor, what do humans do when they're upset?"

"They yell at people."

"They also become violent." Jack gave a few of the wires a good push, and the device began emitting a series of beeps and bloops. "Loose wires. You were shaking it while yelling, thus causing it to work intermittently. I expected more sense from you, House."

The diagnostician shrugged. "I enjoy yelling. It helps me think. By depriving me of my temporary amusement, you're putting your colleague's life at risk."

"I've replaced the scanner with something you'll hate even more." Jack flourished his hands. "Me." To be honest, he expected House to retort with a nasty comment rather than lift up his cane and try to beat him over the temples, but his short time around the doctor had honed his reflexes, and he managed to dodge the attack. While he was ducking, he aimed a punch at House's stomach and sent the man reeling. Jack straightened, feeling pleased with himself, when House flipped the cane around and hooked his leg as he fell. The two of them went down in a heap, and Jack felt a fist make contact with his jaw.

"Misanthropic bastard," Jack said, punching him back.

House threw him off, then body-slammed him. The two went rolling into a door, which crashed open, rebounded off the wall, and flew back into Jack's head. Seeing stars, Jack failed to avoid House's retaliation. "Overly peppy personal-space invader!"

Jack managed to catch House's next blow and twist his arm around. He stood, forcing House up as well. The doctor tried to get behind him to free his arm, but Jack threw himself backward, slamming them both against a wall. House did a little hop and brought his full weight down through his elbow onto Jack's shoulder.

"Argh!" Jack yelled. "I'm going to have to die or see a chiropractor to get that fixed!"

"Should've thought of that before messing with _umph!_" House replied as Jack swung him off into the counter. Containers and cotton swabs went flying as House sprawled against the shelves. Jack leapt at him, but House rolled out of the way, grabbed a bottle of tongue depressors and threw it at him. The sticks exploded everywhere as the jar bounced off Jack's head and the lid snapped open. He nearly lost his balance and grabbed the closest thing nearby, which turned out to be the handle of a cabinet. The door swung open and slammed into House's face as he tried to charge him. Then the handle ripped off and they both fell in a heap. The contents of the cabinet spilled down on them, and Jack grabbed the closest box that went bouncing past. It turned out to be a sample of Claritin, but he didn't really care. Instead, he set about beating House with it as hard as he could.

"Get... _off_!" House lifted his arms over his face to protect himself from the rain of blows, but he couldn't get away as Jack was sitting on his good leg. His cane lay abandoned on the other end of the room, so he did the only thing he could. He grabbed the nearest tongue depressor and stuck it up Jack's nose.

"Ow, ged id oud!" Jack yelled, beating him harder.

They were interrupted by the clicks of safeties coming off three handguns. Jack turned his head to see the doorway crowded with soldiers. "Hi," he said, waving sheepishly at them. The stick slipped out of his nostril and landed on House's face. "Ew!" he exclaimed.

"Stand and put your hands up!" the soldier nearest them said. Jack complied, but House barely staggered to his feet before he fell again.

"I'm afraid I need that cane, my good man," House said.

The soldier hesitated before gesturing at the cane with his gun. "Fine, go get it, but slowly."

Jack nearly chuckled. House took close to fifteen seconds crossing the room, putting on the most pathetic display Jack had ever seen. It took him another ten seconds to hobble back onto his feet. By then, their captors were tapping their feet. House moved a few steps closer, then smiled. "That's better," he said. Half a second later, all three of them were unconscious on the ground, and Jack had to admit he was impressed.

"Those two look like our size. We should take their clothes," Jack said. "That should spare us a lot of the attention we've been receiving."

House eyed him with suspicion. "You just want to strip them."

Jack grinned. "Does it matter? I bet you'd look good in a uniform."

House twirled the cane in warning but let Jack approach the men. Once they changed, they examined themselves in the mirror, and House grumbled that he was too old not to be a commanding officer. Jack decided he vastly preferred the old look from the World Wars. "If I'm going to look like this, I should at least get a UNIT cap," he muttered to himself. House whacked him in the shin.

When they returned to the scanner, it was still showing an elevated radiation trace. They followed it back into the hall and into a stairwell.

"That's leading into the morgue," House said.

"I hate looting dead bodies."

"It's not stupid enough to teleport _into_ someone, is it?"

That was a good question, and Jack didn't know, so he shrugged and replied, "Haven't been feeling constipated, have you?"

**--**

"I hope Gwen is okay," Owen said when he and Foreman had finally run out of horror stories about their bosses. 

"I'm sure she's fine. Whatever else House may be, he isn't a murderer." Foreman screwed up his face, like it took real effort just to say those words. 

Before Owen could respond, there was a thump from the above that indicated someone was headed down. "Shit!" Owen hissed. "Where can we hide?"

"There!" Foreman dashed over to the opposite wall where all the cadaver lockers were and started pulling them open. "Find an empty one and get in!" He found one just as he said that and climbed awkwardly in. He heard Owen scrambling to climb into his own and he pressed his hands against the sides of the locker and pushed, sliding the drawer closed.

He heard a deafening _click_. Dread slammed into him like a hammer. He pushed against the walls, trying to open it again, but sure enough, it was locked shut.

"Don't close it all the way!" he yelled, hoping Owen would hear him, but even as he said it he heard Owen's drawer slam shut. "Fuck," he said, with feeling, then hastily shut up when he heard the door open and several pairs of footsteps loudly entering the room. 

"There's no one down here, sir," said someone.

"All right, come back up here," said a voice that sounded like it was coming through a walkie-talkie. 

"Roger," said the first voice, and then Foreman heard them leaving.

There was a minute of silence, and then Foreman heard Owen cursing vehemently from a nearby locker. He sighed and tried to make himself comfortable.


	13. Interlude III: How Do They Rise Up?

**Interlude III**

**How Do They Rise Up?**

"He's awake," the Doctor commented in an offhand manner as he walked by Jamie in the TARDIS hall, roughly a day following Jamie's heroic rescue of the boy on the burning spaceship. "Do tell me what he says, will you?" he added with a wink. Jamie watched as he rounded the far corner and then calmly waited about ten minutes before suddenly dashing over to the next door, an excited grin on his face. He opened it slowly and peeked in. Sure enough, the boy was sitting up and blinking slowly at his surroundings. 

"Hi," Jamie greeted, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. The boy jerked in surprise, then frowned. Jamie hoped they could be friends. The TARDIS was always more fun with more people, and he often found himself missing Ben and Polly, Zoe, and Victoria greatly.

"Who are you?" the boy asked bluntly. Jamie wasn't deterred by the boy's lack of a friendly hello.

"I'm Jamie McCrimmon. Who're you?" he responded cheerily, still standing by the door. 

"This is the TARDIS, isn't it?" This question caught Jamie off-guard and he frowned, suddenly wary. 

"Aye," he said slowly. "How'd you know that, then?" Again, the boy ignored his question, but instead suddenly brightened up and started to speak very rapidly.

"So the Doctor did save me, then? I knew he would! Where did you come from? Where are Tegan and Nyssa? Where's the Doctor?"

"Woah, slow down! How do you know about the Doctor?" Jamie said, immensely confused. 

"Well, I travel with him, of _course_."

"Ye do not. I think the Doctor would notice if he left someone on a burning ship."

"Who _are_ you? And what's with the skirt? " the boy said after a minute of confused silence.

"The person who saved your life, and it's no' a skirt, it's a kilt," Jamie said testily. "Be a little more grateful, would ye?" There was another awkward pause as the boy digested this.

"Where's the Doctor? I need to speak to the Doctor," he said finally. 

Jamie had been thinking along the same lines--the Doctor would set this straight. "Aye, fine," he said and left to find him.

He located the Doctor not too far away, informed him testily that the boy wanted to speak with him, then followed the Doctor back into the room. 

"Hello. I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said pleasantly. The boy seemed offended by this.

"No you're not. Is this some sort of stupid joke?"

"I assure you I am." The Doctor didn't look especially surprised. Jamie did. 

"Oh no! Don't tell me, you've regenerated _again_? Already?"

"What?" Now the Doctor looked surprised.

"What?" Jamie asked at the same time. "Regener-what?"

"How do you know about regeneration?" the Doctor added.

"Well, it happened right in front of me," the boy said haughtily.

"Oh dear. I think we may have an issue," the Doctor said, wringing his hands. "What are the odds?"

"Oh..." The boy seemed to be reaching the same conclusion as the Doctor. 

"What's going on?"Jamie was still mystified, and it was annoying him. 

"Quiet, Jamie," the Doctor said. "What's your name, boy?"

"I'm Adric," the boy said.

"Well, Adric, I don't know you but you obviously know me, which means you must come from some time in my future."

"So how did you know to come rescue me?" Adric demanded. 

"I didn't. We landed there by accident, and it was Jamie who rescued you." Jamie was sulking in the corner now. Adric didn't even look at him.

"But... you didn't know me when you found me. I'm sure of it. If we had met in your past, wouldn't you have recognized me?"

"That is the curious thing, isn't it," the Doctor said slowly, like he was thinking hard. "I hope we haven't created a paradox--that'd be a very bad thing. Still, it looks as though the universe is holding together, so I think for the moment we have nothing to fear. I'd refrain from telling me anything about myself, though." 

Adric nodded but didn't say anything for a while. Eventually, he whispered, "What happens to me now?"

**--**

A little more than half an hour later, a slight jolt alerted the three of them to the fact that the TARDIS had landed. The three of them had been talking, though it was mostly Adric asking questions and the Doctor and Jamie answering them. Adric couldn't do much talking about himself, because anything he said could become a problem.

The Doctor jumped up from the chair he'd pulled in front of the bed. "Oh, I forgot I set her to land!" He ran out and Jamie turned to Adric.

"Come with us! I want t' know where we've landed," he said, smiling. 

"Alright," Adric said, and followed him out. When they entered the console room, the Doctor was fiddling with the controls. 

"What's going on?" Jamie asked and leaned over, trying to get a good look.

"Nothing, nothing," the Doctor said, waving him off. "The TARDIS is giving me some strange reading, but I'm sure it's nothing. The planet seems to be completely hospitable. Why don't you two go ahead and see what it's like? I want to finish something up here really quick, but I'll be right there, I promise."

"Aye, sure," Jamie said and pulled the lever to open the door. 

"Don't go too far away!" the Doctor called after them as they exited. 

Jamie and Adric found themselves in the middle of a long, deserted hallway. 

"Weird," Adric remarked.

"Where are we?" Jamie asked. Adric shrugged.

"The architecture looks similar to that on Earth," he said. They chose a random direction and went that way, then took the first turn they came across.

Jamie, who had been ahead by a couple steps, wheeled backwards in shock. He nearly ran into Adric, who jumped out of the way just in time.

"What are you doing?" Adric asked angrily.

"Shh!" Jamie hissed, and gestured for him to look around the corner. Adric did, then gagged and pulled back. Just around the corner were several humanoid creatures, and they were all steadily cannibalizing another. 

"_Gross_," Adric said.

"I don't think we should stay here," Jamie said.

"Right," Adric agreed. Jamie glanced around the corner again, watching in sickened fascination as the creatures ate. They looked as though they weren't feeling too well; they were dirty, their clothes were ragged, and the way they were eating was way beyond messy. Otherwise, though, they looked human. He stared, trying to figure out what he was looking at, and he was so engrossed that he almost didn't notice Adric pulling frantically on his sleeve. Then he heard a loud noise, and a sense of displacement slammed into him.

Jamie froze at the terribly familiar sound of the TARDIS dematerializing. 

"What--" he began, turning to discover the space behind him was suddenly empty. "Doctor?!" he cried in alarm, but the TARDIS was most definitely gone, and the Doctor with it. Adric did not react calmly to this turn of events. 

"Look! He left! He's stranded us here! My Doctor wouldn't do that! I knew he wasn't really the Doctor." Quickly getting over his own shock, Jamie immediately stepped in to defend his friend. 

"Don' be daft, o' course he's the Doctor! There must be some sort of reason he left. Maybe the TARDIS malfunctioned or something, it wouldnae be the first time."

"Hah! My Doctor knew how to pilot his TARDIS!" Adric retorted. Jamie was prevented from responding because one of the feasting people around the corner had heard the commotion they were making and, having completed his meal, had lurched around the corner and spotted them. His actions alerted the other two and all three of them were walking haltingly towards the two boys, arms outstretched grotesquely. 

Jamie grabbed Adric's arm and sprinted off down a barely-lit corridor to their left. The original lights had obviously burnt out or been otherwise cut off from electricity, and only the dim emergency lights provided any way of seeing. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the linoleum floors. The creatures were slow, though, and moved as if they didn't have total control over their limbs. As Jamie and Adric turned the next corner they were already several minutes behind. Adric spotted an open door.

"In here," he cried, skidding to a stop and dashing in. Jamie followed, pinwheeling his arms to keep from falling at his sudden change in direction. He slammed the door behind them and turned the lock. 

For a few moments, they stood in silence, trying to catch their breath. Without warning, Adric whirled around to face Jamie. 

"Where is your Doctor now, huh? He's run away at the first sign of danger!" 

"He'll be back, I know he will be. He wouldnae just leave us here; something must've happened."

"You have too much blind faith," Adric scoffed.

"It's no' blind!" Jamie defended. "I have faith in the Doctor because he's my friend! Because he's saved my life more times than I can remember, and that counts for a lot."

"Yeah, but my Doctor wouldn't have just left us to fend for ourselves without an explanation!"

Jamie was silent for a moment, then said softly, "Your Doctor did leave ye."

Adric wilted, his mouth gaping like a fish as he searched for something to say. Jamie turned away from him and finally started observing the room they were standing in. It was dark just like the rest of the building and was in a state of cluttered disarray. There were papers and overturned desks strewn all over the floor. Books lay in heaps, dirty and torn. In one corner was a cracked chalkboard.

"We're in a classroom," Adric breathed, briefly forgetting their argument in the face of this revelation. "This was a school."

"What happened, ye think?" Jamie asked. Before Adric could respond, Jamie's natural curiosity got the better of him and he moved further into the room, hoping to explore. When nothing jumped out and grabbed him, Adric followed. Jamie sifted through a pile of papers, which turned out to be half-graded essays. 

Uninterested, Jamie put them aside and began sifting through the largest desk, which was situated at the front of the room next to the chalkboard. It had a chunk of one corner missing, and there were some unpleasant-looking scratches on the top, but it was standing upright. If anything had been sitting on top of it, it had been swept to the floor and was mixed in with all the other debris. The drawers, however, appeared to be untouched and so Jamie went right for those. 

Adric, meanwhile, had found a tall metal cabinet that was still standing against a wall, though it was leaning somewhat precariously to the right. He made his way over through the mess on the floor and tried to pry it open, but the door was blocked by a large pile of badly damaged books on the floor. He kicked and pushed them out of the way and pulled the door open with a little effort.

A couple of books, markers, pens, and a globe fell out on top of him.

"Ow!" Adric cried in alarm. 

"Hush!" Jamie hissed from across the room. "Be quiet or those beasties will find us!"

"Sorry," Adric grouched. "I didn't ask for all this to fall on my head or anything."

"Well be careful. There may be broken glass or something lying about. It wouldnae do any good t' hurt yourself."

"I'm not a child, you know," Adric shot back petulantly. Jamie ignored him and went back to his own explorations. Adric pouted, then bent down and picked up the globe. He examined it for a minute with detached curiosity, holding it up so he could see it better in the dim light, then made a quiet sound of surprise. "Look at this! It's the Earth! We're on Earth! We must be!" Jamie shot him an incredulous glance. 

"Doesn't feel like Earth," he said doubtfully. "It feels too evil. Makes my bones shiver. Earth never did nothin' like that, not even at the worst o' times." 

"Well, it looks like Earth to me." Adric examined it more closely.

"Just because they have a... statue of Earth doesn't mean we're on it," Jamie reasoned. 

"Oh, no, wait," Adric responded, ignoring Jamie. "I'm obviously not that familiar with Earth geography, but I'd like to think I've been there often enough to recognize major things, and isn't the big landmass that England's on called Europe?"

"Aye, I think so. Why?"

"Well, it's definitely labeled as Europa here."

"Ah hah! Told ye it wasnae Earth," Jamie declared triumphantly.

"But everything else looks right to me! Maybe it's a typo or... or maybe it's called that in a different language. Or maybe we landed in the future and the name has changed!"

"Maybe," Jamie reluctantly agreed, though he sounded doubtful. His rummaging through the desk had revealed few items of interest. There were lots of pencils and pens, and papers, tape and a stapler, and a wooden red apple that was only a couple inches tall. He eyed the apple suspiciously for a minute before putting it in his pocket for later inspection and moving away from the desk. 

There was a single, large window on the wall opposite the door, but the blinds were drawn so tightly it was impossible to determine whether it was night or day. Jamie trudged over and tried to pull them open, but something seemed to be sticking them there and they refused to budge at all. 

"These windows," he grunted as he tugged on the string, "are stuck or something! I cannae get 'em open!" Suddenly, the string snapped and Jamie stumbled backwards and tripped over a dictionary. He landed flailing on his rear end. "Ouch," he whined, picking himself up gingerly. "Well, no way those blinds are gonna open now."

"Why don't you just try lifting them up and looking under?" Adric suggested in an off-hand manner from across the room. Jamie rolled his eyes.

"I'm no' daft, ye dumb kid. That's the first thing I tried. They're glued down or something." Adric, meanwhile, had reluctantly put aside the globe and was examining with interest what appeared to be behind an otherwise completely innocuous bookcase. He had noticed that the bookcase looked like it had been shoved where it was at short notice, rather than put there purposefully. 

He cleared away the debris on one side and tried to push it out of the way. It was proving too heavy for him, though, and he managed to move it little more than an inch. 

"Get over here and help me with this!" he said crossly. Jamie looked put out at first, but curiosity got the better of him fairly quickly and he trekked over.

Together, they were able to move the bookcase out of the way and found that the thing hidden behind it was a door. It was predictably locked.

Jamie pounded on it and shouted and it wasn't long before there was a distinct scuffling sound behind the door. It cracked open and there was an emphatic shushing noise, followed by a woman's head poking out. There was a very stern expression on her face and she looked to be in her mid-thirties.

"Stop all that noise! You'll wake the dead. Literally," she added as an afterthought. 

"Er," Adric managed.

"What--" Jamie began.

"Who are you and where did you come from?" demanded the woman. 

"Um," Adric gaped.

"What--" Jamie tried again.

"No, hold up, come in here. It's dangerous out there," the woman interrupted again. Jamie looked livid but Adric, eager to put more walls between himself and the flesh-eating creatures outside the room, gratefully pulled him in.

The room they found themselves in was smallish and looked vaguely like a bomb shelter, though there were two other doors that presumably led elsewhere, a couple of folding chairs, and an armchair. The woman sat in the armchair and gestured for the boys to sit as well. Adric did, but Jamie just glared.

"Now," she began again sternly, all business, "who are you and where did you come from?"

"I could ask you th' same thing!" Jamie sputtered indignantly. 

Before the woman could remark upon this outburst, Adric interrupted. "My name is Adric, and this is Jamie," he said, then pulled Jamie into a sitting position by the back of his kilt. "Who're you?"

"How did you get in here?" asked the woman suspiciously. 

"Now wait a minute! Be fair! Answer our question first; we answered yours!" Jamie protested. She eyed him briefly, then apparently ended her internal debate and decided they were more-or-less harmless. She let out a little sigh.

"My name is Lynn, and I'm a teacher here at Duchess. Or I was, at any rate."

"Duchess?" asked Jamie.

"What happened here? What are those... monsters?" Adric asked.

"It's my turn! How do you not know?" Lynn interrupted in a loud whisper. "What they are, I mean. And how the hell did you get in here? Is there a way out? Have they come to rescue us?" She began to get excited. Before either of the boys could respond, another woman stepped out of one of the nearby doors. She was older than Lynn and had very short grey hair that, combined with a set of severe-looking wrinkles, gave her a very wise demeanor.

"Judging from their reactions, I'd say they're definitely not part of a rescue team," she said bluntly, not bothering to hide the fact that she'd been listening in. "Thus we have to ask, how did they get inside the building?" The older lady turned her severe gaze on Jamie and Adric.

"How do we get out is a better question, I think," Jamie responded stubbornly.

"Well that's the problem isn't it?" Lynn said. "They've quarantined the whole school in hopes that they could contain the virus. No one is allowed in or out, under any circumstances."

"But you obviously weren't here to begin with, since neither Lynn nor I recognize you. So, how did you get in, and why?" the older lady finished. Jamie and Adric shot each other sheepish glances.

"Errr... that's a wee bit hard t' explain," Jamie said nervously. 

"We had a spaceship, see," Adric tried to explain, but the older lady but him off.

"Don't lie to me, boy. I've seen liars of all types here and I don't have the patience or time for silly jokes right now." Adric rolled his eyes, not surprised, but Jamie gaped at them, shocked that the two ladies wouldn't believe him. 

"He's telling the truth!" Jamie protested.

"Don't be silly," Lynn broke in testily. "If you're going to be joking around at a time like this, we'll just throw you back out there for the zombies. And we really don't want to do that, trust me."

"Look," Adric began, "you don't have to believe us, but I don't have the energy or inclination to make up some silly story in order to appease you. We came here entirely by accident. Our-- uh, spaceship landed in one of your hallways and then our traveling companion left without warning, leaving us stranded--"

"It was an _accident_," Jamie interrupted emphatically. Adric ignored him and continued.

"We don't want to be here, and we have no idea what is going on, so if you could please just fill us in that would be great." Several tense moments of silence followed this speech. Jamie fumed and sent dirty glares at Adric, who pretended not to notice him. 

"All right," the older lady broke the silence. "My name is Diane. I'm not saying I believe you, but for now we can just agree to disagree."

"Great!" Adric brightened up. "So, where are we and what's going on, eh? You said this was a school?" Lynn seemed content to sit back and let Diane talk, so Diane adopted a long-suffering expression and did so.

"You're in Brownstown, at the Duchess Elementary School."

"Okay, but what country? What planet? What year?" Adric cut in to ask.

"What year?" asked Diane, taken aback.

"Och, we don't know, that's why we asked you!" Jamie said. Adric rolled his eyes. 

"Yeah, our spaceship is also, uh, a time machine." A couple moments passed with the speed and grace of a glacier.

"Uh huh," Diane finally said. "Okay, then, before I continue at all, I have a question: If you're telling the truth and you really have a spaceship, how did you land it in an enclosed space like this school?"

"Oh boy. It sort of... appears. It, er, disappears in one place and reappears in another. It teleports," Adric tried to explain.

"This is sounding more and more like a tall tale," Lynn stated skeptically. Adric shrugged.

"Sorry," he said curtly, not sounding sorry at all. "So exactly where and when are we then?"

Jamie was still a little more than vexed over being disbelieved. "It's true! How else would we get in here?"

"I wish I knew," sighed Lynn.

"It doesn't matter right now," said Diane. "It's the year 1996 and you're on the planet Gaea in the country of North America. And the world's most rare and most dangerous virus has broken out here in this school."

"Are you trying to tell me that a virus turns people into rotting cannibals?" Adric asked incredulously.

"Well, it doesn't really... It kills them, within a day, or not much more, and then attaches to the brain nerves and mutates itself to keep their bodies functioning. Well, sort of functioning. They have no heartbeat, no pulse, they don't breathe, they have no signs of life, but they still keep moving. They have an insatiable hunger for fresh flesh, and they go after other humans first. The only way we've found to destroy them is to completely destroy the brain, but we really don't have the resources to do so. There are too many."

"Why are they so slow?" Jamie asked, thinking back to the group he and Adric had seen earlier.

"Well... of course we don't know for sure," Lynn told him. "It's dangerous, of course, attempting to capture them. One bite or scratch that breaks the skin even a little and you're infected with the virus. Then you inevitably become like them, if they don't devour you first. But they don't seem to have full motor control. The bodies are essentially dead, so not everything is working properly. And their digestive systems don't actually work either, so they're not digesting what they eat. It just sits there in their stomachs; that's why some of them are so bloated."

"So why, then? What's the point of eating? Where does the virus come from?" Adric's head was swimming with impossibilities and questions.

"Well, like I said, we don't really know," Lynn said, sounding uncomfortable. There was a brief pause.

"So, are we on Earth or not?" Jamie asked suddenly, as though this had been troubling him for a while.

"No. We told you, you're on Gaea." Diane was confused. 

"But... you're humans?"

"That's what I said."

"Well, I don't get it," Jamie declared, turning to Adric, who looked a little impressed that Jamie had caught that.

"You see," he explained, "Jamie is from a planet called Earth, where almost all of the customs are nearly identical to here, as far as we can tell. They also call themselves humans. Come to think of it," he added thoughtfully, "the language must be the same as well, or nearly the same. Otherwise we wouldn't be able to understand you without the TARDIS translating for us."

"What?" Lynn frowned.

"Och, who cares?" Jamie said evasively, not in the mood to do more explaining. "Let's get back to the point! Walking dead people?"

"Well," Adric began slowly, trying to logic his way through the identical planets conundrum, "from a purely statistical standpoint, it should be possible. I mean, if, as according to theory, time and the universe--this universe, at any rate--is infinite, there must accordingly be an infinite number of possibilities. Therefore, it follows that anything that _can_ exist, must eventually exist in some place or time. So theoretically, it's possible for a planet somewhere in the universe to have undergone almost the exact same climatic and evolutionary changes as Earth, resulting in two nearly identical planets."

"What?" Jamie said, flabbergasted, a minute or so after Adric had finished. Lynn and Diane, however, peered at him with grudging approval. He shifted anxiously under their combined stare.

"As improbable and overly convenient as that sounds," Diane declared, "it is very, very clever. You're older than you look, aren't you?" Adric blushed, then looked as though he didn't know whether to be pleased or insulted.

"Not really, ma'am, I'm just good with mathematics, and that is a well-known mathematical theory."

"Just one thing," Diane continued. "The universe _isn't_ infinite. It has an end."

"But," Adric interjected, affronted, "it's constantly expanding! And since time _is_ infinite, we are forced to conclude that it will continue expanding indefinitely. And if you don't see time as a straight line, because it most definitely isn't, then the universe is infinite." Adric suddenly seemed embarrassed by his defensive outburst and added, "Either way, though, it is just a theory." Diane seemed impressed despite herself.

"Yeah, well, one thing's for sure," Jamie grouched. "There never were any walking dead people on Earth. Dead people usually stayed that way, or else just got deader."

"Well yeah, that's true, as far as I know. There are obviously some differences. But the idea of zombies definitely does exist on Earth," Adric said.

"What?"

"Well, maybe not during your time, I don't know, I'm not so good with Earth history. But I've read several stories about them in the TARDIS library. Humans--err, Earth humans--like to use them in fiction to scare each other, like vampires or ogres. For entertainment, I guess." Adric paused. Jamie scowled. "Uh, you don't have vampires here too, do you?" Lynn shrugged.

"Dunno. What are they?"

"Um, nocturnal people with fangs, drink blood, turn into bats, etcetera?"

"Don't think so," Lynn confirmed.

"This is stupid. There's no way there's two Earths" Jamie whined. In the face of so much chat and so little action he was becoming restless.

"There aren't," Adric tried to explain. "Like I said, there are differences. For example, this planet is called Gaea, remember?" Diane chose that moment to speak up for the first time in quite a while, cutting off Jamie's retort.

"Well, I must say," she said, "at the very least, you two are putting on a convincing show."

"Um, thanks," Adric said uncertainly. Jamie pouted, but didn't say anything. There was an uncomfortable silence that was broken a minute later by a new voice.

"Mrs. Barry? Mrs. Walters? What's happening?" A young blonde girl, thin and dressed in a slightly dirty blue shirt and skirt, stepped out of the door to their right and closed it behind her softly. 

"Nothing, Mary. Go and get some sleep like the rest," Lynn told her. Mary's lower lip wobbled a bit and her hand fisted a part of her skirt.

"I can't sleep," she complained. Lynn sighed.

"Oh, very well. Come here, then." Mary climbed happily into Lynn's lap and turned inquisitive eyes up at the two boys. She smiled nervously at them and then turned her attention to Diane.

"Mrs. Walters, are they here to help us?" she asked quietly. 

"No, Mary. It doesn't look like it," Diane said sadly. Mary yawned. 

"Then why are they here?"

"They're aliens from another planet," Diane told her, shooting Lynn a significant look. Jamie was mildly offended.

"Oi, we're not the aliens, you are!" he protested. Mary giggled at him. 

"They came here on a spaceship. But they've lost their ship and their friend and now they need help too," Diane continued.

"Wow," Mary said, awed.

"How many kids are back there?" Adric asked.

"Not enough. Eight. Mary is the youngest. As far as we know, we're the only living people left in this school," answered Lynn. Jamie made a shocked noise.

"Wait--" he stammered. "A whole great building like this, full of _kids_, and they're all dead?" He looked truly horrified for the first time.

"Duh," Adric said. "Where did you think all those zombies came from?"

"I didn't think about it," Jamie muttered, ashamed and repulsed at the same time.

"This school goes from the first through the ninth grade. Mary is the only survivor from the elementary section, as far as we know," Diane said.

"And you're all just living here? How? What about food, and water?" 

"Well, luckily there's a water fountain in the other room that still works. The disease only travels by direct contact, so they can't contaminate the water. They're not smart enough to, anyhow. Food is harder. We have to make runs to the cafeteria for canned food. The zombies don't go for anything other than flesh, so the food in there is relatively unspoiled, but lately it's been more dangerous than ever. They're starting to catch on, and they're patrolling our routes. We're running out of food, so if help doesn't come soon..." Diane trailed off, apparently at a loss for how to continue tactfully, but the point was clear. Mary had fallen asleep on Lynn's lap. Adric suddenly had an idea.

"If you let us sleep here tonight, we'll get you food tomorrow," he said.

"Of course," Lynn immediately agreed. "We would have let you stay anyway. We're not so cruel that we'd send you back out there."

"What makes you think you'll be able to get to the food?" Diane asked suspiciously. Adric grinned at her.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll manage. We've been through worse. Anyway, I won't be going. Jamie will." Jamie sputtered.

"Och, what?"

"You can do it," Adric said, patting his shoulder. Jamie slumped grumpily into his chair but didn't protest. "Now, we're pretty tired... Where can we sleep?"

**--**

"No, no, no, nononono! What's happening? Why now?" The Doctor ran frantically around the console, trying desperately to make his TARDIS stop dematerializing. Nothing he tried did any good--it seemed like the TARDIS was going into an emergency mode. 

"No! At least tell me what's wrong! Oh, Jamie, oh no, we can't just leave them there!" The Doctor banged his fist against the console furiously, not really believing that it would help but needing to let out some frustration. The TARDIS abruptly stopped making noise altogether. "What? Shutdown? Why?" The Doctor looked mournfully up at the viewing screen, but it showed nothing other than empty space.

"What happened...?" Instead of wasting more time on his anxiety, he immediately set about trying to discover what had gone wrong. He opened a panel in the wall and grabbed a couple of simple tools, then closed that panel and opened a few more.

"Oh, I do hope I'll be able to find my way back," he mumbled to himself as he tinkered with the innards of the TARDIS. Not five minutes later there was a small explosion and the Doctor reeled backwards, tripped over his own feet, and landed on his rear. "Oh dear," he muttered. He wiped his brow and sighed when a large amount of soot came off onto his hand. He pulled his handkerchief out of his front pocket, wiped his face deftly, and then got back to work. Something had to be up for the TARDIS to act that way, and if he didn't figure out what quickly, who knew what could happen to Jamie and Adric? 

**--**

Lynn led Jamie and Adric into a dark mid-sized room with aggressively uninteresting walls and absolutely no furniture aside from a mass of mismatched bedding on the floor, which contained at a first glance sheets, blankets, curtains, towels, washcloths, and sleeping kids. 

"I'm sorry, but we can't spare any blankets," Lynn whispered regretfully as she carefully placed Mary down on an empty blanket, trying not to wake the slumbering girl. "We don't have much and the kids are using it all. I know it's chilly, I'm sorry." 

"That's alright," Jamie said quickly. The room was dark but there was a small light on the ceiling that was providing a minimal amount of light, so they could see to navigate around the mess. 

"There's an empty corner over there," Lynn said, pointing. "The kids tend to huddle so you should have a fair amount of space to yourselves."

"Thank you," Adric said gratefully and made his way to the corner Lynn had indicated. Jamie followed. Lynn gave them a last glance, then exited the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. She and Diane, she had explained, were taking turns watching the door while everyone was asleep, and so slept in the main room. 

Jamie stood watching the door absently for a moment, but lowered himself gingerly into a sitting position on the floor when Adric, already sitting, tugged on his sleeve. 

"We're stranded here," Adric murmured softly after a short silence. "This is a pretty bleak situation..."

"We're not stranded," Jamie whispered back confidently. 

"Seems to me like we are."

"We're not. The Doctor will come get us." Adric wished he had Jamie's conviction and absolute faith in the Doctor, but he didn't, and he decided it was better to remain silent. 

Jamie watched anger and doubt war on his face. He knew the Doctor had told him not to ask questions about Adric's experiences, but he didn't see how it could hurt. After all, Adric didn't recognize _him_ which meant he wasn't traveling with the Doctor when they met. If Adric wasn't part of his future, it wouldn't cause a paradox for him to find out about it. That was such an easy jump of logic the Doctor must have known... unless he'd been afraid Jamie would let something slip. Well, the Doctor could count on him! He'd do right by both the Doctor and Adric.

"If you dinnae trust the Doctor, why did ye follow him?"

Adric jumped, as though he'd forgotten Jamie was there. He gave him a sullen look from behind his bangs and didn't reply.

"What were ye doing on that flamin' ship?" he asked softly.

Adric still didn't speak. The minutes dragged on, and Jamie was getting ready to give up when the boy finally said, "I was trying to save the Earth. I was trying to save Earth because the Doctor couldn't. And it's not even my home."

Jamie sensed a faint jab at the Doctor; what was there that he possibly couldn't do? Sure, Adric was smart--_really_ smart; even the teachers admitted it--but the Doctor was, well, the Doctor. Then he looked at Adric huddled in the corner, his clothing ragged and scorched despite the fact that they'd been washed, and he just looked scared now. If the Doctor was here, he would know what to say, but Jamie didn't. Jamie knew about action, not speech, so he reached out and pulled Adric to him. The boy flinched and opened his mouth to protest, but then he realized Jamie wasn't attacking him and let himself be swept up into a hug.

"I don't care who your Doctor was, he would never leave any of us." He remembered, now that the Doctor had undone the efforts of his fellow Time Lords, how lonely he'd felt back on Earth. He didn't even know why, but the Doctor had come back for him eventually. The Doctor would always come back. "But I promise ye, on a McCrimmon's word of honor, that even if he doesn't come back for ye, I will. I pulled ye out of that fire, dinnae I?"

He half expected Adric to reply with some scathing remark, but there was no response. The boy was limp in his arms, and as he watched his steady breathing, Jamie realized he'd fallen asleep.

It was only after Jamie himself had nodded off that Adric stirred. His eyes had been open the whole time, and now he lifted his head to get a good luck at Jamie's face. His brow was smooth and untroubled. Dropping his head back onto Jamie's chest, Adric closed his eyes, and for the first time since he found himself aboard an alien TARDIS, he felt safe.

**--**

When Jamie woke, he was still in a room with sleeping kids, but there were only about half as many as there had been when he went to sleep. Also, Adric wasn't there. Muffled noises from the adjoining room answered his question before his mind could even form it. He carefully stood up, winced at the ache in his back, and stepped over a few kids to get to the door.

"Great!" Adric beamed at him as he walked through the doorway. "You're up! They're really, really low on food." He gestured towards the dubious vegetables he was eating. They did look pretty weak, like there was a reason they'd been saved until last. No one wanted to have to eat them unless absolutely necessary. There were several kids sitting around eating similar breakfasts, or else doing other various morning activities.

"Right," Jamie said blearily. He wasn't sure if he was entirely awake yet; he didn't feel like he was. There was a short silence.

"So," Adric prompted.

"So?" Jamie asked.

"So go get some! You said you would, remember? And frankly, I don't care to be stuck eating this. It's really sub-par."

Jamie thought sub-par didn't even begin to cover it. "As I remember it, you said I would," he protested. 

"Oh, quit your whining and just do it. How bad could it be?"

"Pretty bad, I should think." The retaliation was just for show. Jamie was already getting ready, checking to make sure his knives were in the right places and looking about to see if there might be anything he could use for a weapon that had a little more reach. 

"Again, thanks so much for doing this," Lynn said. "I don't know how we would have managed otherwise."

"Och, it's no problem. At least, not much of one," Jamie told her, and strapped a pipe to his back. "Where am I going again?"

A half-hour later found Jamie directly across from the cafeteria. He'd managed to cleverly avoid zombies so far, which was contrary to his usual abrupt and straight-forward methods, but these were creatures he'd really rather avoid if at all possible, and a little subterfuge was what was necessary. However, now there were three zombies blocking his path. Jamie glanced down at the hastily-drawn map Diane had given him (along with a sack for the food), frustrated. It seemed there was no way to get into the cafeteria, and every second he waited, hoping they'd wander away, heightened the risk that he'd be found. There was nothing for it but to charge them.

Jamie slowly drew the pipe from where it was strapped to his back. It was heavy and metal and about three feet long, but it wasn't a weight or style he was used to, and if he lost it all he'd have were a couple of small knives, which wouldn't do too much damage to a zombie. He had to separate the head from the body, or destroy the brain. 

He took a deep breath and charged at the zombies. He slammed the pipe hard into the head of the closest zombie before the others could react, and it fell to the ground with a sickening thump.

"Raaaaugh," said one of the zombie's companions. It reached out at him and made a hungry face, but it was too slow. He took that one out in the same way. The third zombie grabbed his arm from behind, but its grip was weak and dead and Jamie twisted away easily, bringing the pipe down hard over its head. It made a horrible, high-pitched screeching noise, but it fell and lay still.

"That was surprisingly easy," Jamie muttered under his breath, but the pipe was much heavier than he was used to and he was a little out of breath. On top of that, the noise he'd just made would surely bring hoards of curious zombies. He didn't have long to get what he'd come for.

Jamie dashed through the cafeteria doors and screeched to a halt. The room was cluttered beyond belief, and he had to seriously watch his step to avoid tripping over some debris. There were overturned tables and trays and bits of rotting food everywhere. Worst of all, there were two more zombies who were now lurching determinedly towards him.

He took a deep breath and ran at them. They were close together and he managed to bring them down with one solid swing. He turned towards the kitchen, but one of the fallen zombies hadn't been hit thoroughly enough, and grabbed his foot, biting into his shoe. Jamie slammed the pipe down on it several times to make sure it wasn't going to move again, then bent to examine his shoe. Luckily, they were sturdy and the bite hadn't come close to piercing the leather.

Jamie stood and ran for the kitchen, hopping over several tables as he went. The kitchen was a mess and most of the food that was still there looked fully inedible, but Jamie darted around grabbing canned foods and anything that looked okay and tossing them into his sack. When he'd fit in all he could carry, he swung the sack over his shoulder like a particularly perverse Santa Claus and ran out of the kitchen, over the tables, and out of the cafeteria.

There were packs of zombies closing in from either side, and they were moving surprisingly fast, much faster than they had before. There was nothing for it--Jamie tightened his grip on the sack and charged at the least densely populated section of zombies, swinging his pipe wildly. 

He didn't stop to aim or make sure they went down. Instead he just plowed right through them, swinging the pipe in front of him to clear a path. He felt hands grabbing at him, though none caught tightly enough to hold him, and had to fight back the urge to vomit. 

Horrible moaning sounds filled the air and the rank stench of rot flooded his nostrils, but he kept going. With neither the time nor the necessary amount of hands to check his map, Jamie ran blindly in the direction he hoped was correct. He'd broken through the first pack, but zombies were still coming at him from all angles. He felt one latch onto his sack and he whirled around, bringing the pipe smoothly down onto its skull. The sickening crack echoed throughout the hall.

He was quickly becoming exhausted. The zombies were no match for him one-on-one, but the sheer numbers they had was overpowering. Finally, he burst into a corridor that was devoid of zombies. He could see, hear, and smell them closing in on him from behind and he realized with more than a little panic that he was completely lost. Jamie glanced back once more at the fast-encroaching hoard and then resumed running. A stitch in his side began to make itself known, but he ignored it. 

There were no more monsters coming at him from ahead, but there was an innumerable amount chasing him, and more kept joining them with every passing second. Jamie was beginning to realize he might not escape this time when a familiar sound reached his ears.

Relief rippled through his body like nothing he'd ever felt before. His whole body felt like it was on fire, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Slowly the TARDIS materialized behind him, partially blocking the mass of zombies from view.

As soon as the TARDIS was fully materialized, the door swung open and the Doctor stepped out. He glanced around and grinned when he saw Jamie.

"Oh, good, it did work! Jamie, what's going on?" he said.

"Och, no time for that now, Doctor!" Jamie shouted at him, and ran headlong into the TARDIS, grabbing the Doctor by the coat and pulling him in with him. He slammed the doors shut, dropped the sack, and doubled over, heaving. 

"Jamie, Jamie, are you alright? Where's Adric? And what is this disgusting old bag?" the Doctor was asking, alternating between looking Jamie over and casting worried glances at the doors. 

"Why'd y' leave?" Jamie asked once he'd gotten his breath back. The Doctor looked apologetic.

"Ah, well, it wasn't me, it was the TARDIS. There's something here that causes paradox problems for her--she couldn't stay. I just wish she'd given me a little more warning... But believe me, Jamie, I would never intentionally leave you behind, and I've been working non-stop to get back ever since." Jamie beamed at him. "That's not important right now, though, is it? Where's Adric? We need to get out of here before the TARDIS starts having serious problems."

"Right, right," Jamie said, suddenly serious again. He'd momentarily forgotten his original mission with the excitement of seeing the Doctor again. "I need t' get this back t' the children, we need t' help them! Adric and I found a group of survivors. They're all holed up in this wee room and they're out of food. Adric is there now. Och, how're we going t' get there now? We're probably surrounded by those nasty zombies!"

The Doctor was already fiddling with the console. "Zombies, are they? Well, not to worry, Jamie, I'm much better at piloting short distances. I'm sure I can make it. Where in the building are they, did you say?" Jamie looked dubious, but told the Doctor as best he could remember. The TARDIS shook as it dematerialized and Jamie felt a vague sense of dread, but it rematerialized very soon after and when he opened the doors he found himself looking at several kids of varying ages who were staring back at him, wide-eyed. He sighed in relief, then stepped out.

"I got the food, kids!" he said brightly. "Even better, I think I may have found us a way out of here." 

The kids swarmed up to the door, looking inside and blocking the Doctor as he tried to get out. Adric, Lynn, and Diane stepped out of the side door and gaped at him. 

"Doctor!" Adric said, sounding disbelieving. Jamie ginned, feeling overwhelmed with joy at the knowledge that he had been right about the Doctor, and that Adric knew it. 

"Where did that come from?" Lynn asked. "And who are you," she added to the Doctor, who had finally managed to herd the kids away from the TARDIS and shut the doors behind him. They were all making a lot of excited noise, and she had to strain to be heard over them.

"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor said, and put out his hand for her to shake. She stared at it. He turned towards Diane. "Nice to meet you two."

"Hush," Diane told the kids. They hushed.

"He's our friend, I told you about him! He came back, I knew he would," Jamie said. "He can get us all out of here, too!"

The kids started whispering excitedly again. 

"How did that get in there?" Lynn asked.

"That's not important right now," the Doctor said while Jamie and Adric both rolled their eyes. "If everyone could pile in, I can easily get us out of this building."

"I don't think we'll all fit," Diane said suspiciously.

"I think you'll find we will."

They did. 

The Doctor dropped off the two fascinated adults and the pack of enchanted kids some miles away from the school in a completely zombie-free zone. They discovered that there was a large perimeter around the school into which no one was allowed entry. An apologetic and mystified guard told them that their scanners had picked up no signs of life at all inside the school, which was why there had been no rescue attempt, and that it was an almost entirely contained incident - an office building a short ways away had also had a zombie breakout, but it had been taken care of more quickly and there were several survivors. The Doctor had speculated that the reason their scanners didn't appear to work was because of all the zombies, which were essentially the opposite of life, blocking their path. 

The Doctor was fascinated by the planet, which was almost a mirror of Earth, similar enough that it could have easily been from a parallel dimension, though that obviously wasn't the case. "This must have been what was causing the TARDIS to jump," he remarked. "She was reacting as though it were a parallel dimension!"

The area where they'd landed was a camp that was set up just outside the perimeter, around which a tall, sturdy fence had been built. Thus far they hadn't had any problems with zombies leaving the two buildings, but the fence was a necessary precaution until they figured out how to get rid of the zombies altogether.

The camp was a place to stay for survivors and also for the people whose homes had been within the perimeter. There were several hundred spacious tents, and guards and civilians milling about everywhere in between. There were large army trucks filled with rations, first aid, and other necessities. Jamie had eyed his own sad sack of dubious food, then gone and hid it underneath a nearby truck. Diane had spotted him and thrown him a wink. 

By the end of the day, all the children were reunited with their families. The Doctor declared their work done, but Adric wanted to stay and explore a little more, so when they were offered a tent, the Doctor agreed to let them stay the night. 

They didn't get much sleep; the Doctor wanted to learn as much as possible about the planet, and Adric wanted to know everything there was to know about the zombies. Jamie got bored with the questions quickly, and went outside where he found several young children playing with a frisbee who taught him how to play. Adric kept casting vaguely suspicious glances at the Doctor all evening, but he never said anything. The strong feelings of relief and discovery kept all three of them in a slightly giddy state and by the time morning came about, none of them had slept too well, though it didn't really bother them.

Satisfied that everything was fine, they quietly left despite protests from the people at the camp. Everyone was curious about the TARDIS and wanted them to stay, but the Doctor felt it best for them to leave.

As the TARDIS was dematerializing, Jamie pulled Adric aside. "I told ye," he said, grinning. "I told ye the Doctor would come back! He'd never leave us on purpose."

Adric looked torn between being relieved Jamie had been right and peeved that he had been wrong. "Yeah, okay, but--"

"How are you two?" the Doctor unwittingly interrupted him. 

"We're great, Doctor!" Jamie said. "Where are we off to now?"

"Now? Oh, I don't know. I suppose we'll have to find out."


	14. Chapter 9: The Ninth Circle

**Chapter 9**

**The Ninth Circle**

A soft light glowed at the bottom of the ladder, warm and yellow like the emanation of a homely lamp. It seemed out of place to Tosh, who'd pictured some stark research facility lit by fluorescent lights and infrared sensors. That would have been a contrast with the actual manor itself, and she supposed the reality made more sense, but when Tosh was putting her life on the line, she liked the surroundings to acknowledge her effort.

The descent seemed to last forever, and Monty's panting echoed up to her, growing louder with each rung. Sometimes, when she gripped one of the steel beams, she felt slick drops of blood on it, and her heart ached. Still, he had chosen this path, and one way or another, he would be all right. _Unless I have to fight him._ Would she be able to shoot if necessary?

She shifted the opening of her bag so that she could see her scanner screen. The LCD display showed seven figures waiting at the base of the ladder, but she saw nothing. There were no shadows and no hint of movement. With about ten meters remaining, Monty paused. Looking down, she saw him motion for her to stay put while he continued down. She gave him a thumbs up, and he continued moving.

Her heart thudded in her ears as he closed the final meter and set foot on solid ground.

"Hi," Monty said, putting up his uninjured arm in the beginnings of a wave, but then he stopped and looked about confused. Peering about, he went a ways down the tunnel, his footsteps fading away. He returned after a short pause and said, "There's no one down here."

"I'm reading at least seven people within two meters of you!"

"I swear, there's no one here!"

Tosh slid the remaining distance down the ladder, unwilling to take the suspense any longer. The shock of landing caused her legs to fold, and she stumbled, but Monty caught her. She heard a sharp intake of breath as she brushed against his arm, but then she was steady. She looked around, anticipating an attack at any moment, but Monty hadn't lied; there was no one there.

The hall was carpeted a thick, luxurious navy blue, and faux candelabras lined the walls, complete with flickering bulbs. A florid wallpaper stretched all the way to a distant doorway some hundred meters away, and the abundance of flowers made her dizzy. Her scanner reported several more guards along the way, including two by the door. All of them were invisible.

Invisible...

"Oh my god!" Tosh exclaimed. She glanced down at the scanner again, and sure enough, it now read no one present. "It's a hallucination!"

At that moment, the world rippled, as though a shockwave passed through, and she was surrounded by the governor's private security detail. She turned to Monty, but the men closed in and all she could see was a wall of black kevlar. She knew his protests would not be forthcoming, but even so, she waited for him to cry out, "Stop! She's with me! I'm the governor's aide! Take your hands off her!"

Sure enough, Monty made no noise.

"Monty, you bastard!" she screamed. She kicked at the men grabbing her, but they forced her to the ground, and she got a mouthful of the carpet. She knew she couldn't overpower them, but she fought on anyway, kicking and punching and scratching, all the while wailing uncontrollably. "I trusted you! I wanted to believe! I knew better, but I still hate you!" Tears poured down her face, and her mad struggle nearly bought her freedom, but then one of the men slammed his foot into her abdomen and she doubled over, sobbing and choking and shrieking, "I hate you, Monty, I hate you!"

She saw a white cloth come down upon her face like a shroud, and for a moment, she welcomed it, but then she remembered that she was giving in to him, making things easier for the man who'd betrayed her, and she turned her face away, refusing to bring air into her lungs even though she'd wasted her breath in wracking cries. _I'll suffocate before I give in!_ But a hand grabbed her collar and jerked her up. An open palm sent fire across her cheek, and she gasped in shock. The cloth entered her mouth, and the guard stuffed it in further and further until she was choking. The smell filled her nostrils, and she felt a numbness spread across her face, into her brain and down her neck. Even as she went down, a deep moaning continued to rattle in her throat, terrible enough to give even her captors pause. Well that was fine. She hoped they remembered it. She hoped _he_ remembered it until the day he died.

Darkness closed in, and even then, all she could think about was how it matched the color of his hair, how the strands felt in her hands as she pulled him in for a kiss that seemed a million years ago. She felt a million years old, and if that was a kiss of innocence, then this moment was the doom of old age.

**--**

House was perplexed to discover that someone had cleaned up the morgue a little since he was last there. At least, there were no more unconscious men laying about. Jack was surprised by the large dents in one of the walls, and was even more surprised when House informed him they were the result of a combination of Gwen on an adrenaline rush and high-velocity soldier bodies.

Only a couple minutes into their search for the elusive alien device, something started pounding very loudly from inside the cadaver lockers. House dove behind a nearby table, livid with shock. "_What did you do_," he hissed at Jack, "to bring the _dead people_ back to life?"

"I didn't do anything!" Jack protested. House ignored him because he'd just noticed that there was a person covered by a white sheet, in front of him under the table. The person was breathing in a raspy, labored way. House yelped and scrambled backwards.

"Okay, I'm alright with aliens and all that, whatever, but _dead people should stay dead_!"

"Hello?" Jack said to the lockers, ignoring House.

"Who's there? Get me out of here!" screamed a muffled voice. Jack's eyebrows shot up.

"Owen?" he guessed.

"Obviously! Is that you, Jack? Get me out of here!"

"Me too!" shouted a second voice, from a locker two over to the right.

"And that's Foreman," House said. "So okay, _they_ probably aren't dead people coming back to life, but what about these people under the tables! They're breathing!"

"Oh, they're still alive. We put them there," said Foreman.

"Right," Jack said. "We'll get you out. Hang on a minute."

"Hurry! It's stuffy in here and it smells," said Owen. Jack pulled on the drawers, but naturally they were locked. He glanced around for a key or at least a lock-picking device of some sort, but before he found one House called him over.

"I think I found it," he said, and pointed up. There the device nonchalantly sat, at the very top of a very tall cabinet. House made to poke at it with his cane, but Jack grabbed it, stopping him.

"What are you doing?" he said, aghast. 

"Getting it down. Duh," House said.

"Don't just knock it down! What if something happens?"

"Alright, then you get it down." House stood back, perfectly happy to stay out of everything.

Jack huffed, then grabbed a nearby folding chair and placed it next to the cabinet. It was a little wobbly, but he decided he didn't care.

"What are you guys doing? Hurry up!" shouted Owen impatiently.

"Hold your horses," House snapped back. Jack could just barely reach the top of the cabinet when standing on the chair. His fingers scraped along the top, their tips just barely brushing the smooth surface of the device. He jumped a little, trying to grab it, and missed, knocking the device off the top. At the nearly same time he landed back on the flimsy chair, which gave way beneath him, and House dove forward to catch the falling device. 

House landed stomach down on top of the device and Jack landed directly on top of him.

There was an eerily familiar complete silence.

Inside the lockers, Foreman was getting impatient. After a full minute with no more sounds he started pounding again. 

"House! House! This had better not be a sick joke! Let us out!" he shouted. 

"Foreman!" he heard Owen say from his locker. "I think something must have happened. It sounded like they fell or something."

"Oh god," Foreman moaned. "You know, I thought this day had hit its lower bound, but nope, if there's one thing I'm learning from this it's that things can always get worse."

**--**

Strange, Ianto mused. He could treat the fight with Howell exactly like any other fistfight, and all the punches that he landed seemed to hit the alien, yet he knew that its anatomy resembled nothing of a human's, so how could that possibly work? Did the alien technology account for his actions in the hallucination, or did the hallucination guide his mind toward the right parts of the alien's body to strike. And if the alien had any degree of control over the hallucination, why would it help Ianto pursue a successful fight?

Of course, given that the violent fistfight was continuing right this instant, Ianto suspected there was something wrong with his mind when he spent more time analyzing the logistics of alien technology than focusing on the battle at hand. Or rather, there was nothing wrong with his mind, but it had entirely the wrong priorities.

On the other hand, Howell had been caught off guard by Ianto's sudden attack. His eye continued to bleed, though the flow had slowed to a trickle, but the combination of factors led to him falling into a corner where Ianto could thoroughly pummel him with little fear of retaliation. Rebeca might have been in a position to help had Howell not fallen upon her leg when Ianto punched him. As a result, she lay on the floor, and though Ianto doubted she'd even sprained herself, she seemed content to watch the brawl. From the glimpse of her face that he'd gotten, she was too amused to intervene.

The air about them began to fizzle as Howell's human form began to break up. "Shouldn't you be... trying to escape?" he wailed at Ianto, his voice rising and falling with the intensity of his disguise.

"That's a good point," Ianto said, grabbing hold of his two eye-tentacles and tying them into a knot. "But it's not like I can't leave whenever I want."

Howell's jaw reared up at him and roared, his rows of teeth almost quaking from the force of his exhalation. "I wouldn't be so sure!" he rumbled.

Too late, Ianto saw one of his arms had grabbed hold of a grenade-shaped container on the collar around his neck. He tried to pull his hand away, but Howell undid the valve with a snap of his fingers. A mustard-colored gas burst forth with the speed of an explosion and filled the room. Ianto caught the full blast before he could hold his breath, and he staggered back as it filled his lungs. It had an acrid taste, a mix of burnt orange peels and fresh toast, and his skin began to tingle as he collapsed to the ground.

"What'd you do?" he coughed, but Howell had fallen on his back again, twitching and unresponsive. So at least the gas had the same effect on the aliens. Judging by the fact that a thick fog had now spread into the surrounding rooms, he wasn't in any immediate danger from other people. He just hoped Howell wasn't crazy enough to commit suicide just to take him out.

Losing his balance, Ianto fell on something soft and found himself face-to-face with Rebeca. She still had a small smile on her face, but her open eyes stared at him without comprehension. He tried to push himself back up, but he could no longer feel his arms. None of his limbs responded to his attempts to move them. A rainbow of colors swept across the room, and the walls began melting. _You've got to be kidding me,_ he thought.

"Do you see the wallabies?" Rebeca asked no one in particular. "I didn't know you could train them to tap-dance."

**--**

When Tosh awoke, she found herself sprawled on a hardwood floor. Searing white lights blazed down at her, and she raised an arm to shield her eyes. She blinked a few times and made out... _curtains?_

A tremulous 'A' started up, echoing through an empty auditorium, growing louder as more strings joined up. She looked to her right to find herself on the edge of a stage. Below her, the pit orchestra continued tuning, and the conductor gave her a reassuring smile.

_Where the hell am I?_ she wondered, rubbing her head.

"The better question might be _'What did they drug me with?'_" a familiar voice told her.

"Monty!" she cried out, stumbling to her feet at the sight of the man walking out from the shadowy recesses of the stage. He was dressed for a ball, complete with a suit Ianto would've killed for and a velvet cape the color of the twilight sky. When he moved, the stage lights made the material glimmer as though covered in a million stars. He swept her up in his arms, and she nearly forgot the last few hours.

The brush of satin against her thighs made her look down, and she saw she was wearing a maroon gown. "What did you do to me?" she asked, but the more she thought about the situation, the less it made sense. The only explanation had to be that she was still unconscious and having visions. She remembered the cloying scent of the cloth and realized it hadn't been chloroform.

"So this is my imagination," she said.

Monty gazed at her with furrowed brows. "A tad cliché, this, isn't it?"

The orchestra launched into a four-four beat, and she recognized it as a tango.

"I don't dance," she protested.

"Well, _I'm_ not responsible."

_What's wrong with me?_ she thought as Monty pressed their bodies tighter together. _Maybe the aliens are influencing my dreams._ But no, she suspected this was entirely her own mind. Her sick, twisted mind.

"The sequence of steps is slow, slow, quick, quick, slow," Monty whispered into her ear.

"I—"

"Don't worry. It's tango. I lead, you follow."

Tosh had to bite her lip to keep from crying. "If that's the way you like it," she whispered.

The music crescendoed as they swept across the stage, _one_, two, _three_, four, quick, quick, slow. Monty's every movement was forceful but gentle, and the pressure of his body served to suggest rather than demand where she put her next step. The air swirled about them like gusts of wind as they glided from one foot to the other, and for a while, they moved as one, their actions saying everything words could not.

As they danced, the lights began to fade. Tosh couldn't spare the concentration to look upward, but shadows flitted at the edge of her vision the way Monty's cloak billowed when they turned. As Monty spun her, the violins suddenly ceased, leaving only a low chorus of cellos and violas. For the first time, she saw figures of black smoke whirling about them, all paired off and spinning to the same music.

Then she realized the spotlights weren't turning off; they were shifting to a different couple. Dust danced as cones of light swept over the dancing figures, smoke turning to flesh for the briefest of instances as the beams illuminated them. Tosh thought she recognized the men and women, some her old university mates, others random people she'd seen strolling in the streets. As soon as the light was off them, they turned to ghosts again, but one pair just grew more and more solid until all the stage was dark save for the circle in which they moved.

This was one dance the two Captain Jack Harknesses had never shared; the one from 1941 led while her Jack followed, but as she watched, they parted, and the first one stepped out of the light, disappearing before her eyes. The spotlights parted, leaving the remaining one standing alone, still as a statue while the other figures fluttered past, oblivious to his presence.

The orchestra thundered at her ears. She felt the stage tremble beneath her feet, as though they were giants tearing the world apart in their wake. Wood splintered and beams cracked, but Tosh and Monty had eyes only for each other. Faster and faster they went, shaking dust from the rafters. The violins picked up their parts again, and the room collapsed faster. Curtains tore as invisible moths chewed through them. Rust and rot ate the seats; the ground turned to dust, whirlwinds churning them into funnels that shot up like pillars.

Now, they were the focus of attention again. Brighter and brighter they grew, until halos lit up their skin and the heat from their bodies caused the air to shimmer. Their breaths mingled, and sweat dripped from her brow. Louder and louder the music became, even as entropy took the pit. She wasn't even sure what the dance was anymore, or whether the finale was anything like the beginning, but it didn't matter. All she knew was that she had to keep moving or turn to dust as well. _Faster, faster, but still more graceful._ Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. The music filled her, resonating every cell in her body until she thought she would explode. She wondered if that meant it was their turn to vanish as well, but when the final note struck, it was the destruction that died instead, and the white-hot light turned to black without any intermediate transition.

They stood motionless, still pressed together, chests heaving from the exertion. All around, there was nothing.

_This..._

_...this is your life._

The music and the heat, all the dizzying emotions that had flooded her, began draining away. She couldn't even see Monty, but that made her feel better. Now, there was nothing standing in their way, nothing to prevent the pure truth from passing between them.

"You betrayed me!" she yelled, punching him in the shoulder.

"What makes you think that?"

"It's obvious! You took me into a trap back in that secret passageway. You didn't defend me! You were willing to say anything to obtain my trust! You told me you would die for me, but who decides that after knowing someone for two days? You work for the governor, and I _know_ he's a traitor! That tow truck--our car had no parking violations, so what were the chances of both of us getting towed at the same time? The aliens arranged it all, didn't they? 'Let's attach a spy to Toshiko, because she's so desperate she'll trust anyone who shows an interest in her!'"

"Those are your words, not mine."

"Fine. If you're not a traitor, prove it!"

"I can't."

"Then you're a liar!"

Monty squeezed her close until she couldn't breathe. "I can't prove it, not without your full consent. There's many forms of betrayal. If I'm innocent, then you've betrayed me in your heart. And this proof... there's no turning back. One of us is damned either way."

"Then so be it!"

Her defiance met a silence that dragged on for close to half a minute. She was about to rage at him again when she realized a wind was blowing against them. Goosebumps sprang up on her skin as an ice cold chill sank into her bones. Her breath turned to fog as a faint gray light cast them into a faded world of snow.

In the distance, a soft thumping, like the beat of a heart, sounded with disturbing regularity. Monty's face was a grim mask, and she shifted under his gaze. Her heels crackled against ice, and she saw they were standing on a frozen lake. "Oh my god!" She gasped as she saw they were surrounded by human scalps lying in irregular circles upon the surface. "Where are we?"

"The ninth circle of Hell," Monty replied. "Final resting place for traitors." There was an aching sadness in his voice, and she felt his fingers dig into the fabric upon her back, trembling and afraid to let her go. With a sinking feeling of dread, she turned to see the giant form of Lucifer towering over them, his ragged wings beating out the frozen winds of his prison.

"You demanded proof," Monty said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had no choice." He jerked away from her, unable to stay and unwilling to go.

"What proof? Monty!" She stepped forward to take hold of his hand but realized she couldn't move. Looking down, she saw that her feet were frozen, the ice already as high as her ankles. "Monty, what's going on!"

"I told you one of us would be damned. There... my proof is there in your doom."

Tosh grabbed her leg and pulled, but the ice climbed up her skin relentless as a glacier. "Don't leave me here!"

"You betrayed me, Tosh. You didn't trust me."

"I'm sorry!" she screamed. The surface was rising faster now, and her hips became immersed. She started flailing, but when her hands touched the ice, they caught and started sinking as well. "I'm sorry! All the evidence was against you!"

"It's too late," Monty said, wringing his hands. "I can't do anything. I can't, and..." he ran his hand through his hair, pulling at it until chunks start falling. "Oh my god I can't do this!"

He dashed forward, taking hold of her arms and pulling as hard as he could. Her gown tore beneath his grip, but she kept sinking lower and lower. The ice was at her chin now, and a shadow fell upon them. She looked up to see a gaping jaw come down upon them. Terrible certainty filled her; she was sure that must be what the aliens looked like. The entire invasion was judgment. She screamed, but Monty didn't even look up. He just kept tugging at her, refusing to let her go. "I shouldn't have brought you here. I betrayed you too," he kept muttering.

"No you didn't! You didn't! Get out of here while you still can!"

The creature clamped its teeth around Monty and, with a snap of its neck, sent him flying through the air. His body tumbled about, limp as a rag doll, and disappeared into the faded heights of the cavern. She tried to scream his name, but her jaws were locked, and as her head went under, her eyes remained fixed upon the spot where she last saw him, forever pointing at the proof of her guilt.

**--**

Only about half an hour following the incident in the morgue, House woke up. His leg was throbbing and there was something really heavy on his back. Further inspection revealed that to be Jack, still unconscious. House heaved himself up, throwing Jack off. Jack hit his head on the floor with a loud _crack!_ and woke suddenly.

"What!" he shouted. House's raised an eyebrow as he heard in the back of his mind, _Ouch, my head! What happened? Oh shit the alien device!_ He was fairly sure it hadn't been him who thought that. His head was just fine.

Meanwhile Jack had grabbed the smooth, ovular device, which was still sitting innocuously where it had fallen, and pocketed it. Halfway through the motion of standing up, he froze.

"Ohhhh no," he said. House felt a wave of comprehension that he was sure wasn't his own, because he still had no idea what was going on. He used a table as leverage to get himself to his feet. 

"What did you do to me, you bastard?" he said to Jack. 

Jack stared at him. "Are you, uh, hearing voices? Or something?" he asked. _Please say no. I don't want to deal with this,_ House heard.

"Yeah, because you did something to me! While I was unconscious! You're sick!" 

"I didn't do anything to you! I was unconscious too," Jack retorted.

"So why am I hearing a voice in the back of my mind that _sounds like you_?" House demanded.

"I don't know! I'm hearing you!" They both stiffened.

"Oh hell," they said at the same time. 

"It must've been this," Jack said, pulling the alien device back out from his pocket.

"I thought it switched peoples' minds, not linked them," House said. In a way, he wished that had happened, not because he in any way wished to be Jack, or to even be associated with him, but because Jack's body had the obvious advantage of not having a bum leg. A muffled ruckus from the direction of the cadaver lockers briefly registered in his mind, but he dismissed it in the face of infinitely more important matters. He felt the same brief notice and quick dismissal coming from Jack, but he didn't know whose thoughts had triggered whose.

"Well," said Jack, "we don't really know what it does. We only know what it did. Never assume something only has one function."

"So basically, this is just some sort of psychic alien mind-raping device?" _How does it work? The nanotechnology must be astounding. Maybe some sort of neuron mutator or converter?_ Jack was thinking. House deliberately tried to send the thought _Shut up and answer_ his way and was pleased to see it must have worked when Jack glared at him. 

"I suppose you could think of it that way," he said. "This sort of technology is way past the limits of my knowledge and experience, but whatever it is has to work by manipulating psychic energy in some way. The number of things it is potentially capable of is infinite."

"Nothing's infinite," House said, instinctively latching onto something he could apply logic to. "Everything has an end. People only use "infinite" when they don't have the brains to imagine something really big."

"I am not arguing with you over something that inane." Jack sighed. _You have no idea_, House heard. "We have bigger problems to deal with."

"So what are you waiting for?" House said.

"What?"

A sense of horror House hadn't previously realized he should be feeling crept over him. "You can reverse it, right?" he said.

"Why would I be able to do that? I already said I don't know how it works!" Jack said, frustrated.

"Are you telling me that the mighty, confident leader of a top-secret alien-catching gang is stumped by a two-inch egg with an impish streak?"

**--**

The troupe of Riverdancing wallabies made a loud enough racket that Ianto and Rebeca ran no risk of being overheard despite the fact that Howell sat two seats down from them.

"You're not very upset at being gassed," Ianto remarked.

"We're having a new experience, aren't we? And I'm sure we're seeing the same thing. Just think, if we could discover the chemical makeup of the gas, how much money a drug like this would make. Communal hallucination: it's not restricted to people with access to exotic frogs anymore!"

Ianto sighed. "We're not very well-dressed for the evening. We _are_ going to be here a while, aren't we?"

Rebeca wrinkled her nose. "When the performers smell like that, I don't think it's a black tie event."

He ignored her and decided to put the limits of his mind to the test. An image of his favorite suit fixed firmly in place, he closed his eyes and concentrated. When he opened them again, his ragtag outfit had been replaced with a brushed and ironed suit with a red shirt and striped tie. "Excellent," he said.

Rebeca leaned over and ran her finger down his cheek. "I think you'd look better with nothing on."

For a moment, his clothing flickered worryingly, but then one of the wallabies tripped and fell off the stage onto Rebeca, redirecting her mind to more pressing matters. "I hate glitter!" she squealed, pushing the flailing marsupial away. It hopped away looking disgruntled.

"They do have good form most of the time, though."

"Yes, they've adapted the performance quite well. I wonder which one of us is responsible."

"You were definitely talking about them when I went out, so I'm blaming you."

"What would you have preferred, Mr. Bond?"

Ianto shrugged. "I like wallabies, but I pictured a petting zoo. Oops." As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew both of them would picture a similar setting, and sure enough, the auditorium popped out of existence to be replaced by an expanse of dirt and yellowing grass. The wallabies continued dancing behind a wooden enclosure, stirring up clouds of dust and foul smells.

"YAAAAARGH!" Howell screamed as his seat vanished from under him, plopping him into a large, muddy puddle. Ianto and Rebeca, more prepared for the transition, stood a distance away, leaning against the fence. A lone eye protruded from the muck, its tentacle pointed at them with a baleful bent.

"You know," Ianto called to him, "if the gas was an attempt to win our fistfight, you're not doing a good job at following up." A thought occurred to him, and he eyed his companion to see if she was thinking the same thing. By the curve of her lips, she was.

They looked back in time to see the troupe of wallabies hop out of thin air and begin stomping on the alien. Taking advantage of the distraction, Ianto said, "The aliens promised BRAIN technology to your husband."

"I don't know. I'm hoping he dies so his lawyers will hand over all the materials he has locked away."

"Such a devoted wife."

"Quite."

"So if Howell could override our fantasies, he would. Since he can't, I can only assume that his species either lacks the imagination or the brain structure to beat the human mind." He wasn't about to go into the details of BRAIN technology if she didn't already know. However, Tosh had reported that her alien tech caused people to have religious experiences, while the one they tracked through the rift switched Chase and Cameron's minds. The aliens had a gas that could link minds while in a hallucinatory state. Everything they possessed targeted the mind, which made Ianto doubt his original assumption that BRAIN technology was just a myth. If any species was capable of inventing such machinery, it was the one invading Earth, yet given their lack of innate psionic ability, why would they create a technology that they themselves couldn't utilize?

Unless they didn't want to use it themselves. Unless they intended to trick humans into accepting BRAIN technology outfitted with an override. Then humanity would become a weapon, possibly the most dangerous weapon ever made...

Looking at Rebeca, he saw that her mind was beginning to probe the possibilities of their newfound world. _If Howell can't stand up to her, then I'm the only obstacle in her way,_ he realized. Time to distract her.

"It's getting a little boring out here, isn't it?" Punctuated yelps continued to emit from Howell's direction, along with a series of squelching sounds. While both of them avoided looking at him and the offending wallabies, the mud flying everywhere was becoming a little difficult to ignore.

"What do you propose?"

"How about a treasure hunt?"

After the excitement of the alien encounter and ensuing brawl, it took her a moment to recall their earlier conversation, but when she did, her eyes lit up, and Ianto could tell he was safe for the moment. His victory, however, was short-lived, because he realized that however devious she might be, he knew what to expect from her.

He had no idea what they would find on Shipwreck Island.

**--**

Chase's--that is to say, Cameron's--foot was fractured. Cuddy guessed that at least three bones were damaged because of her heel; the foot was swollen and turning purple like some hideous balloon animal. She now glared at him as though he had been at fault, but surprisingly enough, Cameron was taking the situation in stride.

"He'll need a cast," she informed Cuddy

"Yes, I know."

"Aren't you upset at all?" Chase asked.

Cameron shrugged. "I figure the worst of the pain will be gone by the time I get my body back. You're not allowed morphine, though. I don't want to deal with a dependence just because you can't stand a little fracture."

"Or two," Cuddy muttered.

"Or three!" Chase yelled back.

"Hush, you'll attract attention," Cuddy snapped. "I'm surprised Jack hasn't complained about us holding him back." There was a pause. A loaded and--in Chase's opinion--uncomfortable pause. "Where's Jack?"

The two women burst out of the room, forgetting all about Chase. "He left us!" Cuddy exclaimed. "After all that talk about being on a team, he left!"

"You're supposed to be quiet!" Chase hissed, his concern for his life suddenly outweighing concerns about getting fired. Cuddy gave him a considering glance, then nodded and left, saying, "I'll go get a cast. You stay here in case a soldier decides to check in or Jack comes back."

Cameron looked ready to protest, her mouth open in an expression that ranged between indignant and confused. Chase wondered whether he looked that vapid when they were doing differentials or if it was just Cameron; he would have to look into that.

He didn't have long to ponder these questions of personal vanity. As soon as Cameron shut the door, a whirring sound grabbed his attention. Cameron dashed to the window, pulling aside the blinds in time to reveal a helicopter landing in the parking lot where the humvees had cleared out an open space in anticipation of its arrival. A harried-looking man leapt through the door as soon as it opened, nearly losing part of his head to the spinning blades above. This event added little to his composure, but as soldiers surrounded him, Cameron gasped. "That's the governor!" she exclaimed. 

"So he's showing his true colors at last," Chase muttered, a little unnecessarily. "Well, this is good. Everyone will be too busy dealing with him to look for us."

"No, don't you understand? He's probably here to make sure the job gets done right. They're going to sweep the hospital again!"

"Don't be paranoid."

The door crashed open and two soldiers stepped into the room, guns raised. Chase yelped and threw himself against Cameron, nearly sending them both through the window. Clutching her tightly, he screamed "Please don't shoot me!" in as high-pitched a manner as possible. Cameron glared at him before catching on, then redirected the stare to the soldiers.

"I'm taking care of a patient here," she said, indicating the swollen foot. "She broke her foot when one of your men ran into her, so I'd appreciate if you didn't make things any worse." Chase could feel her heart pounding, but from the furious expression on her face, he would never have been able to tell she was nervous.

The soldiers lowered their guns. "Terribly sorry, sir, but we've been ordered to search the hospital for suspected terrorists."

"That's no excuse for terrorizing my patients! Can't you at least knock?"

"That'd give away the element of surprise."

"Oh, er, I suppose." For a moment, she looked confused. Then she waved a hand at them. "Now get out of here! Shoo!"

The two soldiers exchanged looks and one of them mouthed: "Shoo?" at the other, but they left anyway, which was all that mattered.

A moment of silence followed their departure, during which time there was only the sound of their rapid breathing as adrenaline ran through their systems. Then Chase said, "Why do you have a hard-on?"

Cameron gave him that silly, vapid look again. "I do not!"

"I can feel it! You're turned on! What the hell could get you aroused in a situation like this?"

"How should I know? It's _your_ body!"

"It's your brain!"

"You know, I don't even want to know why you were paying attention to what was going on down there. You're the one with problems, if you're feeling yourself up."

"I do that all the time!" There was an awkward pause. "I mean--"

"I didn't need to know that."

"So either you enjoy being terrorized, or you really like your own body." Chase leaned harder against her. "So soft and squishy."

"Squishy?" Cameron's eyebrow soared upward. Chase suddenly realized he'd made a terrible, terrible mistake.

"AAIEEE!" he screamed as Cameron stomped upon his foot. Writhing in agony, he lashed out in her general direction and knocked her legs out from under her. She fell on top of him, smashing the air out of his lungs. "God you're heavy!"

"Then. Exercise. _More_!" she replied, punching him with every word.

Suddenly, they heard the sound of the door opening, and they froze.

"Oh my god," Cuddy said. "What the hell are you two doing?"

**--**

In the darkness, Monty needed a few minutes to be sure he was awake and not still dreaming. Wincing as pain shot up his side, he rolled off his back and forced himself into a sitting position, legs crossed on the ground. The room was pitch black, so there wasn't a hope of discovering where he was without moving around, and he wasn't sure his body was quite ready for that yet. His arm continued to throb, but the cause of its pain seemed an eternity in the past. _Back when I thought she trusted me._ 

"If I'm not meant to be with you," he said into the darkness, "then where do I belong?"

He'd heard her screams as they tackled her, though the hallucination had prevented her from hearing his.

"She's with me! We need to see the governor! I--"

But the guards just turned on him when he tried push his way through. He punched one, sending the man reeling into the wall, but another forced his arm behind his back, sending waves of pain and nausea through his body. As he sank to the ground, a boot caught him between his ribs, and the world went black when his head struck the floor. Through it all, the words "I hate you, Monty! I hate you!" stuck to him like the stain of some ancient, irrevocable sin.

He shut his eyes. It made no difference in what he saw, but he did it for the personal gratification. Focusing on his breathing, he began a slow count, loosening his muscles and trying to settle his mind. It was clear the governor, or the aliens, or both, knew he was a traitor. _A pariah wherever I go._

No, he would prove himself to Tosh. He would rescue her, but first he had to get out. Perhaps he could convince Governor that he had been pretending thus far, fulfilling an act to perfection in case it had to be performed again, except his cell was sealed and he doubted anyone could hear him. His throat already dry from the exertions earlier in the evening, he decided to exhaust his other options before yelling himself hoarse.

The wall was cold to the touch, but smooth and dry, like plated metal. As he scooted around the perimeter, he took care where he put his hand, lest some trap of design or material catch him. The first corner he ran into caused a sigh of relief; with the room made in right angles, no one had decided to play with his mind and prevent him from discovering the room's dimensions.

_Unless this is all a trick of the mind._

That sort of thinking would get him nowhere. He wasn't wanted, so why should anyone expend resources on him? Besides, he realized at the conclusion of his circumnavigation, there was no way out. The room measured about ten by ten feet but contained no doors or breaks in its walls for as high as he could reach. A similar search of the floor yielded the same result.

"It's a pit," he whispered. Before he could stop himself, his eyes drifted upward and he thought, _I hope there isn't a pendulum._ "No!" he yelled, hitting himself on the forehead. "You read too many horror stories." And not enough adventure ones with daring escapes.

He resettled himself at the center of the room. If the length or width had been less, he might have been able to push himself to the top using his legs and back, or at least reach the ladder that must be present. That was a fruitless line of thought, though.

He heard a hissing sound. It had started about a minute back, he realized, but he only just noticed it. His nose wrinkled as an acrid smell filled his nostrils. They were pumping in gas! That was hopeful, actually--if they still remembered him, they wouldn't leave him here to rot.

He almost looked forward to the hallucination. Anything was better than the black. Anything except clowns, anyway.

Birds chirped and the wind rustled branches as he found himself in the middle of a forest. The noon sun punched through the canopy like columns descending from the roof they supported. A yellow rodent-like creature emerged from the nearby shrubbery. Its tail was bent at several sharp angles, like a mangled clothes hanger. Rearing up on its back legs, the creature tilted its head to one side as it examined him with seemingly sentient eyes.

"Are you an alien?" Monty wondered aloud. The creature scratched its head with a paw. "Well, you're cute, at least. Are you looking for food?" Spotting some acorns hanging from a nearby tree, he headed over, plucked some and laid them on the ground at his feet, hoping its desire for food would outweigh any inhibitions about the stranger offering it.

The animal bounded over, ignoring him completely, picked up one of the acorns and took a nibble. Its ears twitched as it chewed, but then it straightened and nodded in apparent approval.

"You want more?" Monty asked as it wandered past him to the base of the tree. "Here, I can pick more."

It stood on its rear legs again and bounced up and down. "Pika pika!" it exclaimed.

Out of the clear, bright sky, one lone thundercloud pulled together just long enough to send a jagged, blinding bolt of lightning down upon the tree. A loud _crack_ accompanied the splitting of the trunk, and burning leaves exploded in every direction. A thousand acorns rained to the ground, sizzling, each one cracked and smoldering. Monty stood frozen, hand still outstretched just an inch from the now charred and burning plant. The air smelled of pie.

"Great," he said. "Just great."

**--**

Shipwreck Island was an overgrown mess. This was, of course, assuming it had any trace of civilization upon it in the first place, because if it had, no shred of evidence remained to prove the claim. Years of tides swept away at the beach until the jungle was almost at the waterline, and rotting pieces of wood littered what sand remained. The driftwood might have been remnants of ships, but there was little evidence either way.

"How lovely," Rebeca cooed.

"Be careful of the poisonous snakes." He kicked aside a piece of wood to reveal a hissing, multi-hued viper.

Rebeca barely gave it a second glance. "This is a dream. How can it harm me?"

"Pays to be careful."

An echoing shriek announced some predator acquiring its noon meal. A flock of birds fluttered out of the canopy, cawing in reprimand, and as Ianto turned his gaze to follow their flight, he noticed a twisting line of grey rising over the horizon, like a thread dangling from heaven, swaying in the wind. "Over there," he said, thinking how nice it would be if they didn't have to walk.

In a blink, they were surrounded by thickset trees and hanging vines. Before them stood a hut some two square meters large, composed of splintered branches and molding canvas. And in the middle, sprawled upon a gleaming red and orange plastic lawn chair, was the dirtiest human being Ianto had ever seen, and that included Jack after a night of chasing weevils through the sewers. A mass of dreadlocks extended from where his head lay like a nest of snakes, and a tricorne was tilted over his eyes, serving to mask his face as well. The smoke Ianto had seen emitted from a pipe the length of the man's forearm, and the tobacco smoke was both pungent and choking, of a sort Ianto had never smelled before.

Their coughing was what alerted the pirate to their presence, but he made no move to defend himself. Rather, he removed the pipe from his mouth and hid it under the chair, then continued to lie where he was.

"Are you expecting us?" Ianto asked tentatively.

The man leapt out of the chair and staggered a few steps to his left before finding his feet. A tree branch swept his hat off his head, but he ignored that development, choosing to stare at Ianto with bleary, blood-shot eyes.

"Jones!" he declared. "Ianto Jones." He rolled his eyes. "Of course it'd be you. It's always you, with your suit and your sarcasm. Never anyone _interesting_. Go fetch my trigger-happy doppelganger." He waved a hand in a carelessly dismissive fashion. 

"Excuse me?"

"Captain Jack!" the man said, stumbling forward and catching himself against Ianto's shoulders. His breath smelled like he'd eaten something that'd been dead for days and flavored with garlic. Lot of garlic. Along with some really bad eggs. "Captain Jack! It's Captain Jack!"

"Where?" Ianto grabbed onto the excuse to turn away from the man's pungent mouth and saw Rebeca looking around frantically.

"No, no. It's me!"

"Yes?"

"Captain Jack!"

"Where!"

"Here!"

"What do you mean here?"

"No, I mean it's me!"

"Who are you?"

"Captain Jack!"

Something clicked in his mind--the tardiness of the development he blamed on being gassed--and Ianto said, "Oh."

"'Oh' what?" Rebeca snapped.

"This man is Captain Jack. Or, _also_ named Captain Jack, I presume."

"Yes, yes," Jack nodded, and with his great mass of hair, resembled nothing so much as a bobble-head doll. "Exactly—" He froze, and his eyes widened. "You don't know me."

"I think I would definitely remember if we've met," Ianto replied, choosing his words carefully.

"Ah. Crossing of timelines and buggery like that. Well, no wonder you look so stunned. Allow me to introduce myself." He paused, then with elaborate flourishes of the hand, he bowed and said, "Captain Jack Sparrow, proud owner of the _Black Pearl_ and last Pirate Lord of the Caribbean." He paused, then continued as if it pained him to do so. "Except for Elizabeth, of course, but she doesn't count."

"Timelines," Ianto mused. "So you're not the Doctor?"

"Of course I'm not the Doctor," Jack Sparrow replied, swatting his hand back and forth to bat away the suggestion. "I'm _much_ better looking than the Doctor. Any of his regenerations."

"But you've met the Doctor?" Rebeca said, drawing closer. Ianto took the opportunity to redirect Jack's attention to her and get some fresh air.

"Yes, yes, but who cares about him, aye?"

"How do you know the Doctor?" Ianto asked Rebeca.

"Oh don't be silly, Jones. Aside from Torchwood, he must be the worst-kept secret ever. But I've never met him, if that's what you're worried about."

"Tell me, then," Jack said, leering at her breasts, "what brings you two here if you've never met me?"

"There was a coded message in a magazine article."

"Aha! So it did work. Sort of. Well, not really, since I've never met you and Jones is absolutely ignorant. But it still worked! I am to be congratulated."

"You left a message for Jack?" Ianto asked.

"For any of you, really, but I was rather hoping to get Jack. Or Toshiko--she has nice legs--or Owen, it's fun annoying him."

"Isn't it."

Jack staggered back over to Ianto and winked. "Plus I think he fancies me."

"God, you're just like Jack."

"I _am_ Jack, and you'd do well to remember it! Oh, you mean Harkness. Well, in that case, you should know I have a _much_ bigger--"

"Okay!" Ianto shouted, drowning out the rest of that sentence. "So we meet in your past, but my future. I assume, since you know about timelines and all that, you're not allowed to tell me anything." Ianto wondered why this kept happening to him. First Susan, now Jack. Given his luck, he'd next be accosted by something even stupider, like video game characters or something. Mario was probably just around the next corner.

"Let's see if I can remember this properly. Because, from your reaction when you met me, again, when you will meet me and already have, but not yet, I do tell you something now. Though I didn't know that then, or won't know it. But I guess I'll find out. Now. Hmm, so what should I tell you that I've already told but haven't yet? Ah! We meet again, or did meet, or--"

"Jack, please choose a tense and stick with it."

"We have met some hundred years ago, when I have been crewing a ship that has been—"

"Not that tense. And how many hundred years ago?"

"I don't know, do I? Do I look like I'm keeping track? Do you see a collection of logs somewhere with little knife marks all over them?"

"Fine, go on."

"We went on a treasure hunt in the Americas. Somewhere."

"You're very helpful."

"So I am given to understand. There was a map, you see, but very strange, so trying to translate it into modern day analogues would be difficult at best. Nevertheless, it was a great adventure. Not so much for you, but the rest of us enjoyed it fine."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I can't tell you _that_."

Ianto sighed.

"Hold on!" Jack exclaimed. "Be quiet!" Even though Ianto didn't say anything, Jack clasped a hand over his mouth. He winced, as he felt something wriggle against his face. "Something's coming! But what? Nothing's supposed to be here."

Ianto wrenched Jack's hand away and whispered, "Then how are _you_ here?"

Jack motioned at his pipe. "Good stuff. But if you haven't met me, you wouldn't know about it. So that would mean you're here because... oh bugger."

With a pop, Howell appeared in the tree above them, hovering like some monstrous balloon before gravity took effect, snapped the branches he stood on, and sent him tumbling onto the ground.

"You came with _that_ thing?" Jack looked disgusted. "You know, Jones, you're a lot of things, but I never knew you were stupid."

"It's not my fault. He--"

"Quiet!" Howell rasped. "The time for your human dominance is over! You are all my slaves!"

"I think not," Jack turned and walked back toward his hut. "Goodbye." He gave a cheery wave over his shoulder.

"You're not leaving me here!" Ianto said.

"I'm sure you'll survive," Jack replied, an insufferable smirk on his face. He vanished from the dream.

Ianto returned his attention to the approaching alien. "So slaves?"

"Yessss!" he hissed.

"But we're still in the hallucation. There's nothing you can do."

"On the contrary, Mr. Jones. Hallucination or not, some things stay the same."

"Like what?"

"Like the effectsss of gassssss!" Howell lifted a tentacle wrapped around a familiar-looking container. Ianto groaned as it struck the ground and began emitting dirty yellow fumes.

"You're kidding," he said as he heard Rebeca begin coughing. Howell just gave him the mirror image of Captain Jack's smirk as everything went dark again.

**--**

A soft rapping on the door announced Cuddy's return. Wilson looked up, expecting to see House and Jack storming in, yelling at each other, but instead, there was only Cuddy, followed by Chase and Cameron, the former in a cast and crutches and the latter looking flushed and embarrassed.

"Jack ran off without us after Chase broke his foot," Cuddy said.

"Did you see the helicopter?" Tracy asked.

Cuddy nodded. "We should get Gwen out of here. We could move to the exam room Chase and Cameron were in. They said soldiers checked there but didn't recognize them; we can't hope for good luck like that again, but that should buy us time."

"How will House and Jack find us?" Wilson asked.

"I was hoping Gwen had another tracker that we could use to pick up the signal on House."

Tracy went to check, but before she reached her, Streed charged into the room. "Aha! I found you! Hearing of the strange events surrounding the escape of Dr. James Wilson, I used my trusty alien device to analyze the residual space-time disturbance in the area to track the location that he and his rescuer teleported to, and as a result, I was able to find you, and now the credit shall be mine! All mine!"

Cameron nodded. "Then I take it you didn't bring any soldiers with you?"

"No!"

"Good." Cameron picked up a stool and brought it down upon his head. The governor collapsed in a heap. "That was easy."

Tracy extracted a device almost identical to the one Jack had used to track House, except it was slightly smaller. "I guess size does matter," she commented. Switching it on, she showed the display to Cuddy, remarking, "He's in the morgue."

"Let's go."

Bilis held a hand up. "Perhaps we should relocate Ms. Cooper. If that hooligan tracked us down, then others may as well."

"That's a good point." Chase said. "We could _yip yip yip!_"

Wilson poked a finger into his ear and twisted it about. _I'd better not be going crazy again,_ he thought, but Cuddy was eyeing Chase strangely as well. This was moments before he fell to the ground and started chewing on Cameron's shoe.

"Ew!" she exclaimed. "What are you--"

"The governor!" Tracy screamed. Standing in the doorway, Streed had apparently recovered from Cameron's blow extremely quickly and was now aiming a spiral-shaped silver device at them.

"Now that's kind of unnecessary, isn't it?" Wilson said, his voice trembling a little as he found the object pointed at him. "What, uh, what does that do?"

"It makes you believe you're an animal," Streed said, his voice dripping with delight. "An animal that suits your personality."

"So Chase is a small, annoying dog?" Cameron said, trying to repel his advance with her foot. It didn't work very well, as he just bit down and started shaking it back and forth.

"_Bark! Bark!_" He protested when Cameron shook him off.

She sighed. "Of course." Giving Streed's hand a pointed look, she winked at Wilson.

"No, I'm not distracting him!" he replied. _Oops._ Streed's aim whipped over to Cameron and he eyed her with a manic look.

"Think you'll jump me while I'm not paying attention? You're not going to pull the same trick on old Streed twice, missy!"

Cameron gave Wilson a death glare as the device whirred, its spirals spinning like some cheap hypnotist's toy, and she suddenly crouched down, put her hands out in front of herself, and started hopping. Wilson barely had time to take this development in before Cuddy and Tracy lunged for the governor. The man turned on them and let out a little scream, as though he hadn't anticipated any resistance. In his rush, his aim went wide and went between them.

"_Hiss_," went Bilis, his tongue flicking in and out of his mouth as he glided forward bizarrely, for all intents and purposes looking exactly like the snake he was apparently supposed to be. Wilson just shut his eyes and hoped everything would go away. Naturally, this meant that two seconds later, he was knocked flat on the ground as the struggling threesome crashed into him.

He winced as the device, still spinning, went over his head. A sharp tug told him it didn't quite make it past and was now reeling his caught hair tighter and tighter into its grip. He waved his arms about, beating at whoever was nearest, hoping this would somehow ease the situation. Instead, there was a sharp cry and a thud as a body hit the floor. All sounds of struggle ceased, though the device continued winding its way into his hair.

"Was that the governor? Please tell me the governor's knocked out." He got no answer. He felt a sharp tug, followed by the sounds of _snip snip_, and a cloud of brown strands rained down from above.

"Got it!" Tracy announced, stepping aside to reveal the alien device in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. Wilson looked over further to see Bilis crouched in a corner, entranced and terrified by Cuddy, who was on all fours and staring him further against the wall.

"Uh, what's going on?" Wilson asked.

"Well, she got hit," Streed replied, stroking his chin as he surveyed the scene. "And then... really, what sort of animal is that supposed to be?"

Tracy joined them. "A bigger snake?"

"A tiger," Streed said. "She looks like she would be a tiger. Big and strong and virile."

Wilson started choking on nothing in particular. Bilis chose that moment to flee, flopping onto the ground and rolling to the other end of the room. Cuddy bounded after him, complicating their guesswork by making no identifiable sounds. Chase was doing an admirable job of filling that void, however, as he continued to bark and woof and howl his way around the room until he caught sight of Cameron, still hopping around, and tackled her. Cameron kicked him directly in the abdomen, and he collapsed into a whimpering heap.

"I've got it!" Tracy exclaimed. "She must be a mongoose!"

"That's clever." Streed nodded. "Why, I think you've got it. But why would she be a mongoose?"

They both turned to Wilson, as though he would have an answer. He was spared the necessity of answering, however, as he realized that, given Streed's intentions before he was distracted, it was much more productive to knock him out than reply. So Wilson punched him.

The governor slid halfway across the room as Wilson leapt aside and yelled, "Fire the thing! Fire it!"

Tracy took aim, but Streed grabbed a fallen tray and brought it up over his face as she fired. Wilson was still hoping the device would work through metal when Tracy dropped it and started bounding around the room, pausing every once in a while to perform a pirouette.

"Look at me! I'm a gazelle! I'm a pretty, tasty gazelle! Wheee!"

"Gazelles can't speak, you idiot!" Streed yelled.

"Well, I don't think it really works quite the way you explained," Wilson said, picking up the alien artifact. Streed raised the tray again, but Wilson just strode over and kicked it aside. The metal must have reflected whatever it was the alien object did, but that wouldn't be a problem now. "See you later." Wilson grinned and pulled the trigger. Mentally, he made a note to himself to check out some nearby gun ranges.

Streed just lay on the ground. Wilson had been prepared for many reactions, but not this. As he watched, though, Streed's eyes narrowed, and he let out a great snort. His expression did not suggest vindictiveness. Rather, it seemed Streed considered Wilson below him and was merely considering whether to rid himself of a nuisance or not.

"Oh great. So what are you supposed to be?"

Streed huffed. "A rhino."

Wilson had no time for a scream before Streed knocked the breath out of him, sending him flying through the doors and down the hall. He was scrambling back onto his feet when Streed charged at him, covering the distance in almost no time at all. He knew he had no chance of getting out of the way before Streed reached him, so he thrust his hands forward, hoping against hope that would be enough, and shut his eyes. There was a _crunch_, like sheet metal ripping.

Tentatively, he opened his eyes again and saw Streed had attempted to bite him, perhaps realizing he had no horn with which to attack. His jaw had closed around the alien artifact, however, which now lay in splintered pieces upon the floor and in his mouth.

"Oh, that's got to hurt," Wilson commented. Streed's face held a mixture of agony and confusion as his mouth dropped open, allowing silver slivers to fall like snowflakes. As though in a cartoon, several of his front teeth followed suit. The governor fainted.

The next moment, Wilson was on the floor, as Tracy tackled him. She smiled as he asked, "You're not still a gazelle, are you?"

"Nope," she replied. She stood, helping him up, and he saw Cuddy, Bilis and Cameron standing over Streed's prone figure.

"Breaking the device must have reversed its effects," Bilis noted. "Which is excellent, because that means this silly man will feel his pain fully."

"Where's Chase?" Wilson asked.

"Still suffering," Cameron replied. "I know that's my body in there and all, but honestly, he had it coming."

**--**

"Well, you must admit," Rebeca said, once they'd regained their senses-- if managing to wake up in a hallucination within a hallucination could be called regaining one's senses at all--"That was pretty clever. He used what he had."

"It's called being a one-trick pony," Ianto replied, rubbing his head.

"I think it's clever enough." Rebeca sidled closer, and as came within arms-reach, she raised her hands and brought them down toward Ianto as a club materialized in her grip.

Ianto threw himself to the side and drew his gun. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I've been thinking. What happens when we wake up? It's kind of risky for Howell, isn't it, if either of us wake before him. Yet if it's just random, why would he keep coming after us?"

"So what do you think is going on?"

"I think there's a way to speed up our return to reality. Or my return, anyway."

"By knocking me out with a club?"

"By knocking both of you out, my dear. Quite frankly, the hallucinations are a struggle for dominance between our respective minds, linked by a psychic field generated by the gas, or the aliens, or something."

"So whoever is the last one standing defeats the others and wakes up first?"

"Very good. You might as well put that gun down, however, because I doubt you're willing to kill me."

"Why not? You're a traitor."

"Exactly. And I might yet betray the aliens as well. Whereas if you kill me, you're assured of Howell's full and devoted attention toward your capture once he wakes. Do you really think you'll get out of Drumthwacket without me?"

Ianto nodded. "You make a decent point." Rebeca advanced like a cat eyeing a mouse. He ignored her and instead concentrated on a space about two meters above her. "But," he amended, "I hardly trust you to knock me out."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

Ianto pointed a finger upward. She had about a second to register the ACME-labeled anvil falling from the sky before it hammered her into a crater in the ground. The rumbling from the impact continued as Ianto approached the edge of the hole and considered whether his imagination had taken things a little too far. The impact had turned into a bottomless pit as the safe and Rebeca continued to tunnel deeper into the crust.

"That's not good," he said, though at this point, he had to admit he wasn't exceptionally concerned about Rebeca's survival. He did not expect Howell to charge him from behind, however, and with an echoing howl, the two of them plunged into the tunnel, down and down and down...

There was no sense of time as they descended, but it seemed mere seconds before they struck ground. The land and air was bitterly cold; when Ianto noticed the cracks from their impact, he realized he was lying on ice.

Darkness pressed heavy upon him, shrouding his surroundings in mystery, but the distant thud of a heartbeat made him colder than any change of the temperature. He felt his body growing numb and knew he had to stand before the chill seeped into him further. He rubbed his hands together before attempting to push himself up, even though every muscle in his body protested movement.

When he redirected his attention to the ice, he screamed. A face stared up at him from beneath the surface, contorted in a permanent expression of shock and sorrow. He threw himself away from the sight, scrabbling backward on hands and feet, heart pounding as he tried to process the information. Was it just a vision, or was yet someone else in the hallucination as well? Catching his breath, he forced himself to approach the apparition again, and this time, with mind clear, he realized it was someone he recognized.

"No," he whispered, realizing what this meant. So much for his mission here. It was Toshiko buried under the ice. She had not escaped from Drumthwacket, and now... was she even alive? Or was this the fate of those who could not escape the gas.

Even as he thought, however, a warmth filled his body, and now he realized the ice was melting wherever he put his hands. Hearted by this discovery, he pressed harder against the surface, and the rock-hard surface collapsed into slurry. He reached in further and further until he got a firm grip on her shoulders, and when he touched her flesh, it was still warm.

"Toshiko!" he said. "Wake up! Tosh, it's me!" He pulled, and she slid free from her frozen tomb.

As soon as she was free, she began moving. Eyelids fluttering, she frowned at him, "Ianto? What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here! You can't stay! Hurry, go!"

"Calm down, Tosh. Where are we? Where do you think this is?"

A single tear fell from her eye and shattered into ice crystals as it hit the ground. "Hell, Ianto. We're in hell." And she pointed. As though the revelation illuminated everything, the heartbeats grew louder, and the distant darkness resolved itself into the form a winged monstrosity struggling to break free from the ice.

He began to feel the creeping cold again and looked down to see the ice crawling up Toshiko's body, like some slime monster trying to engulf her. And from her, it began spreading on Ianto too.

"No, Tosh, look at me! This isn't real. This is a hallucination. The aliens gassed you, and they got me too. We're in a shared vision, but none of this is real. Whatever you think to be true will become true. As long as you don't believe in this, it'll be all right. It's all fake!"

"It's fake?" Tosh still looked confused, but the ice had stopped its steady advance. "I think I remember. I was in a tunnel, and Monty. Oh my god, Ianto, watch out!" Tosh threw herself against him, forcing him to the ground just as a club swung through the air above them. Ianto lashed out, slamming the base of his gun against Rebeca's shin, and she collapsed.

"Found another future acquaintance, Jones?" Rebeca sneered.

"You know where we are, Rebeca?" Ianto said. "The ninth circle of hell. Reserved for traitors."

"Oh, how poetic. But I kind of guessed that from the frozen bodies and the giant bat over there." Rebeca staggered upright, and Ianto helped Tosh into a standing position. None of them made a move for the fallen club, but then, they could all summon another one up at a moment's notice. "But you know what? This is a hallucination. Treachery is in the eye of the beholder, and to my eye, I haven't done anything wrong." She smiled. "But what about you? Have you any skeletons in your closet?"

Thudding footsteps began from behind Rebeca, and he heard the squeal of hydraulics even as he realized what was coming. The dull gleam of metal armor was the first glimpse he got of Lisa as she emerged from the darkness, and his entire body went cold.

"No, no," he said, but he couldn't even shake his head. His feet were rooted to the ground, and he felt himself sinking.

"Look away, Ianto," he heard Tosh say. "Come on, you can do this. It's not real, remember? You told me it wasn't real!" Her voice grew more urgent, but it was also fading away. It was cold, and Lisa stood before him, eyes filled with disappointment. It was over. He thought he'd gotten over the memories, thought he was able to deal with it, but no. And now he'd failed Tosh too...

_Wham!_ Brilliant white light dazzled his vision, and when it vanished, so had Lisa. Blinking, he glanced over and saw Tosh standing over Rebeca's body, a bent crowbar in hand.

"That was satisfying," Tosh remarked.

"All right, this is good," Ianto said. "Now we have to knock out Howell, and we should be able to wake up."

"Where's Howell?"

A grenade bounced across the frozen landscape and landed at their feet. "Run!" Ianto yelled, grabbing Tosh's arm and following his own advice. The sudden movement caused Tosh to drop the crowbar, but its purpose had been served. The hissing yellow gas pursued them as they slid along the terrain, and behind them, Howell's screams of rage drew closer and closer. Gas canisters littered the ground as he threw one after another at them, and they dodged each one as though they were falling bombs.

The chase dragged on, and the two of them grew breathless. No matter what they wanted to believe, Ianto knew they couldn't run much further. Finally, he stopped, and Tosh fell against him, breathing raggedly and unable to utter any protest to his abrupt halt. Ianto faced the darkness, hoping he appeared more confident than he felt, until Howell's slithering form drew into view.

"Howell!" he yelled. The alien paused, though it slid for a few more seconds before reaching a full stop. One tentacle was poised over the trigger of another canister, but he looked ready to humor whatever Ianto wanted to say. "You're a traitor, you know that?"

"A traitor?" Howell laughed. "What sort of tactic is this?" The tentacle drew closer to the release. "You think I'll be distracted by your talk while you drop an anvil on me as well?"

"No, no mind contests, I promise. And believe me, breaking your word has serious consequences here."

"Traitor's circle. I know this part of your mythology." The tentacle backed off the pin a little but still lingered far too close. At this range, Ianto knew he would not be able to escape the gas if Howell decided to throw the canister.

"Well, your panic attack with the gas gave you away, didn't it?" Ianto said, his mind rushing ahead, checking and doublechecking the points he wanted to make. There was no room for error here. "All of your alien tech revolves around mind control. Yet, now that we're here, you've given the game away. Humans have a superior imagination, and thus we could utilize the technology far better than your race ever could. So why would your race ever work so hard at developing something you can't use yourselves? There can only be one answer: you intend to have humanity serve you. You want to develop BRAIN technology and use the human mind as a weapon. And in that is your weakness, because if the wrong human gets his or her hands on the technology, there's nothing you can do to save your mission from defeat. So in a moment of fright, you betrayed everything your race has worked so hard to conceal, and now you're in a contest of wills in an environment that works heavily to your disadvantage. How's that for treachery? Accidental, yes, but if motive was everything, so many more would be innocent, isn't that right?"

Howell quivered, but Ianto knew the words had struck home. "No," the alien protested. "But I haven't lost yet! And now, I shall gas you, and I will win!"

Ianto grinned. "Too late." Behind him, he could feel the weighted presence of the monster that dominated the circle, for all the time they'd been running, they'd be running toward the center.

A bone-rattling roar shook the cavern as Howell reached to unleash the gas. Its force caused him to drop the canister before he could succeed, and then teeth closed upon him as Satan swept him into one of his jaws and swallowed him whole for the traitor that he was.

Immediately, the cavern began wavering, dissipating like smoke. His hand tightened on Tosh's, but she put a hand on his arm. "I'm waking, Ianto, I can feel it. I'll see you soon, okay?"

And then she was gone. Everything was gone, and he was floating in darkness, but without any sensation at all, he knew he was rising. Up and up he went, and in time, the pitch black began brightening. Waves of gray swept past him, and then a white light bathed everything.

He woke to the sound of ringing alarms and Britney Spears. A muddy haze still hung in the air, but Ianto knew he had little to fear. Most of it clustered over the forms of Howell and Rebeca, both of whom showed signs of waking as well. He figured his won victory had bought maybe minutes at best, but that was enough. He grabbed Rebeca's scissors and advanced on Howell, but a blinking light on Jack's wristband told him its sonic effects were draining the batteries. Shouts announced the return of the guards, and he knew he wouldn't have time to kill Howell before he was caught. Cursing, he tucked the scissors into his pocket and ran.

**--**

"I don't want you hearing my thoughts! That's an invasion of my privacy!" House shouted, alarmed at the idea that there was no immediate way to reverse his apparent mind link with Jack. "Even worse, I don't want to have to keep hearing your thoughts!"

"I don't want you hearing my thoughts either," Jack said, "but seeing as we're sort of stuck with it, you should know it is possible to limit what gets through. Obviously we're not hearing everything, just surface thoughts, and not even all of those."

"Alright. So, explain."

"Umm... well, it's sort of the same thing as consciously sending thoughts, except the opposite."

"If it's the opposite, it can't be the same," House quipped. Jack ignored him.

"The theory is the same. If you consciously try to block me from your thoughts, I probably won't hear them. At least, not as much; I don't know how powerful this thing is." House eyed him warily but for once shut up and did as he was told. After a minute, Jack made an excited noise.

"There! It stopped! Before I was hearing an almost constant stream of thoughts from you, though most were very vague, but now I'm getting nothing!" 

"I haven't been getting anything constant from you!" House said, annoyed. "Just little blips."

"Right, that's because of my training," Jack explained. "I kind of unconsciously block things like that. Since some is still getting through to you, I can assume that the same will happen with me even if you're blocking."

"This is more than just inconvenient," House gripped. "I can't be constantly concentrating on keeping you out of my head. Or keeping me out of your head. Whatever."

"Settle down. It probably won't be that hard. If you imagine a mental image of a wall or something, that's easier to maintain than an abstract block. It doesn't take as much effort as you think."

House was interrupted from being extremely peeved at the universe and taking it out suddenly and violently on Jack by a sudden _BANG!_. He and Jack both whirled around to face the cadaver lockers, where the sound had come from, and belatedly realized that similar sounds had been in the background of their whole conversation.

"Owen and Foreman!" Jack remembered. 

"Ugh, who cares? What kind of idiot is stupid enough to get locked in a dead person drawer, anyway?" House said. Jack rolled his eyes and went over to the lockers.

"Where are the keys for these things?" he asked. House retrieved a single key from next to a sink and tossed it at him.

"One size fits all," he said. "Now that we've got this stupid, useless alien thing, can we get out of here?"

"Just hold on a minute." Jack twisted the key in one of the locks and pulled the drawer open. Owen practically surged out, jumping to the floor and immediately moving into a full-body stretch.

"Jesus, can it get any worse than this? I get out of one tightly confined space and less than an hour later I'm trapped in another! Not sure which one was worse, really." He stopped babbling and glared at them. "Took you guys long enough. What the hell?"

"I think," said House dryly, "we had more important things to deal with." Jack finished opening the other locker and Foreman got out of it at a slightly more sedate pace than, though he looked no less peeved that rescue had taken so long.

"What could possibly be more important than getting two people out of a couple of _dead person lockers_ in which they are _stuck_?" Owen asked, incredulous. 

"Now's really not the time," Jack cut in hurriedly. "I've got to get this thing somewhere I can examine it properly." He pulled the alien device out of his pocket and showed it to Owen briefly. "Recognize it?" 

Owen frowned. "Nope. Nothing like anything I've ever seen, though if you don't know what it is I wouldn't expect that I'd know."

"Why should I care about what strange antics you and Foreman are getting up to? You're not my children, I have no responsibility for you," House cut in, a little belatedly. Foreman rolled his eyes.

"I don't even know what to say to that," muttered Owen.

Jack shrugged. "Let's go."

They hadn't even made it two steps before a noise at the top of the stairs alerted them to the presence of another person. "Shit!" Jack hissed, and motioned for everyone to hide. He ducked behind a nearby table, but no one else moved. House raised an eyebrow at him.

"Nuh uh," said Owen. "This place is hazardous. I'm staying right here, in the open." Foreman nodded in reluctant agreement while Jack slapped his forehead. At about the same time, a tall, thin man with an abnormally long neck strolled through the door as if he were on a walk in the park. 

"Oh, splendid!" he said. "I do believe you are Doctor House, and you must be Doctor Foreman. We've been looking for you for quite some time, you know. And if I'm not mistaken, you two are, ah, Captain Jack Harkness and Owen Harper. Wonderful!"

"I'm a doctor too," Owen griped.

"Who the hell are you?" House snapped. Jack had pulled out a gun and had it trained on the man, who didn't seem to take notice of it.

"I am Colonel Pistachio Smythe. I am under orders to retrieve all of you, so come with me, if you would," he replied.

"I don't think so," said Foreman.

"How did you find us so quickly?" Jack asked. He held the gun steady, ready to shoot at the slightest sign of hostile action.

"Simple!" Colonel Smythe grinned. "Well, not so simple, I suppose, although the application is. Have you ever heard of BRAIN technology, Captain?"

"Hell," Jack said.

"Is that like implanting human brains into robots to create a massive and indestructible army?" asked House.

"That actually happened, you know," Owen said conversationally.

"You're kidding. That's like Typical Science Fiction Plot Version 1.0."

"No, it's not like that," Jack interrupted. Smythe shrugged.

"Please follow me," he said. He started towards the door, then abruptly spun around again, smiling in an unnervingly pleasant way. "I almost forgot! Before we head upstairs, Captain, would you be so kind as to hand me that little trinket in your pocket?"

House stiffened, suddenly alarmed. Jack's eyes narrowed, but he otherwise showed no outward reaction.

"What?" asked Foreman.

"I'm afraid," said Jack calmly, "that I have no idea what you're talking about." _Don't say anything_, echoed Jack's voice in House's mind.

"Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie," he said, just to be contrary. Jack rolled his eyes and Smythe's flickered over to him for an instant before returning to the captain without comment. _I don't know why I bother_, House heard. 

"Don't make me do this the hard way, Captain," said Smythe. "I'd really rather avoid that if at all possible."

"Is that an invitation?" Jack said.

"I'd hoped it was more of a warning."

"Well sorry, but you're bang out of luck."

Smythe sighed. "I'm really not a violent man by nature, Captain. I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this." Without any further warning he surged forward, slamming into Jack and sending them both crashing into the table behind them and then onto the floor when the table rolled backwards. They were struggling for the device, Smythe trying to remove it from Jack's pocket and Jack doing everything he could to prevent him. House leapt back a little belatedly, while Owen darted forward and grabbed the back of Smythe's jacket in an attempt to pull him off Jack, unsuccessfully, and ended up being knocked onto his rear end.

Foreman took several steps away from the brawling men. "Oh no, I am not getting involved in this," he said. 

At roughly the same time, Jack wrestled the device out of his pocket and out of Smythe's immediate reach, and threw it at Foreman. "Catch!" he shouted. Caught off guard, Foreman fumbled with it for a second before dropping it right on Owen's head.

"Ou--" Owen got out before there was a flash of silence. 

When sound returned, Jack was making a despairing sound, House slapped his forehead, and Owen and Foreman were both looking very dazed. Smythe made a grab for the device where it had landed on the floor. Jack swiped at it and missed, and House deftly smacked the colonel over the head with his cane, but aside from a grimace it didn't seem to affect him. He pocketed it and quickly retreated, running back up the stairs and looking like he was trying very hard not to clutch his head in pain. 

"What now?" House shouted at Jack. "We have to get that back!" 

"Calm down. It's under control."

"Under control? How do you figure? And what's wrong with them?" he gestured at Owen and Foreman.

"I slipped a tracker on him while we were fighting. And I don't know but I wish they'd snap out of it so we can get a move on." Jack waved his hands in front of their faces. "Hellooooo? Guys?"

House took a more direct approach and slapped Foreman hard. "Wakey wakey! Not a good time for a nap! Can't have five more minutes! _You're late for your bus_!"

In light of this abuse, Foreman and Owen woke up.


	15. Chapter 10: Do You, Mr Jones?

**Chapter 10**

**Do You, Mr. Jones?**

Cuddy had found Chase a wheelchair. There was really nothing else for it; he moved too slowly on crutches and he'd taken his brand-new, Cameron-induced injuries as an excuse to complain non-stop. Gwen had somewhat miraculously escaped the brawl undisturbed, and was sleeping soundly in her gurney. Bilis had insisted on being the one to wheel Gwen around and Cuddy had ordered Cameron to wheel Chase in what she considered to be punishment. Tracy had Gwen's IV, which meant that Wilson was stuck helping Cuddy haul Governor Streed and his considerable mass down the hallway. 

"We've got to get to my office," Cuddy said between huffing breaths as she attempted to navigate carrying someone nearly three times her own weight. Wilson wasn't much better off.

"Why?" said Chase. "I thought we were going to the exam room."

"Right," said Cuddy. "Wait, hold on--" She quite suddenly dropped the half of Streed she was carrying. His head made a sick cracking sound on the floor. Wilson rolled his eyes and dropped the governor's legs. 

"What?" he asked. 

"Well," said Cuddy, "I was going to use the PA and force this lump--" she kicked Streed lightly "to order the National Guard out of here. I mean, honestly, do they think we haven't got any patients that need attending? As if it weren't bad enough that the staff is all scared half to death--"

"But?" Cameron prompted, cutting her off before she could launch into full-on rant mode.

"But, if you looked around your corner there, you'd see that -- no, no, don't do it, you idiot! -- you'd see that we're surrounded with almost no hope of actually getting there."

"So... we're going back to the exam room afterall, then?" asked Cameron.

"Uh, no." Cuddy looked sheepish. "That way is blocked too."

"Actually, it's in exactly the opposite direction. Even if it weren't blocked, we'd have to have extraordinary luck to make it that far," Bilis added helpfully. Cuddy glared at him.

"Right," she groused.

"So what are we going to do?" Chase asked, looking panicked. Cameron rolled her eyes at him.

"Don't be a big damn baby," she told him. 

"Help me wake this big oaf," Cuddy said, then added, "Quietly!"

Wilson reached down and slapped Streed round the face a couple times, then quickly clamped a hand over his mouth when the big man awoke suddenly. 

"Mmph!" said Streed.

"Hush," said Wilson.

"Good," said Cuddy. "Here's what's going to happen." She looked quite menacing. "You are going to go over to those guards and announce that the search is off and that they are to spread the word and evacuate immediately. You will also tell them to arrange for an emergency generator to be brought in and for repairs on the hospital to begin. This is very important. I will not have any more people die today because of this ridiculousness. Then you are going to come back over here for further instructions. There will be no tricks, no escape attempts, nothing _clever_. You will do exactly that and nothing more. I have had an extremely stressful day and I am not in a good mood. If you defy me, I will only become more cross and that is something you would not like. Am I understood?"

Streed stared at her in abject terror.

"I _said_, am I understood?" Cuddy said, with a surprising amount of force. Streed nodded and gibbered behind Wilson's hand. Wilson, a bit disgusted, removed it. 

"Ugh," he said, observing the fresh blood and spittle on his palm. "Can someone please hand me a towel? This is disgusting." Bilis pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it out. Wilson eyed it suspiciously, but didn't get the impression Bilis much cared for anything beyond Gwen and if, in fact, it was used, he didn't suppose a little snot could make his hand any more gross. He wiped it off and thought twice about handing the handkerchief back covered in stains, then pocketed it.

"Right," said Cuddy, who had been hauling Streed to his feet with the help of Cameron. "Try to enunciate. It wouldn't do us any good if they couldn't understand you just because you are missing a couple teeth." She watched him totter wobblingly towards the guards for a couple seconds, then turned back to the rest of the group, all business.

"Well then," she said, brushing her hands off on her blouse. "We might need these. Everyone take one." She stalked over to Gwen's gurney and pulled up part of the blanket. Bilis made a hissing noise at her, but she only pulled it up far enough to reveal that she had hidden several lengths of varyingly sized pipe under it. She started handing them out.

"What's this for?" asked Chase, taking one from her.

"It's always a good idea to have a back-up plan in case Plan A fails," Cuddy explained.

"No thank you," Bilis said, gently waving away the offered pipe. Cuddy raised an eyebrow at him but did not object.

"Did you have army training or something?" asked Wilson suspiciously. 

"Where did you get all these?" said Cameron.

"He's coming back," said Chase, who had a fair view around the corner from his location. Cuddy shushed everyone and positioned herself. When Streed came around the corner, she grabbed him by the shirt and pointed the pipe at him menacingly. 

"Wait! I did it! They're going!" Streed was barely understandable with his missing front teeth. Cuddy took a minute to decipher what he'd said.

"And the generator?" she asked finally.

"Yes! It's on its way!" he said frantically. 

"Good," Cuddy said, sounding satisfied. "Come with us. Don't make a sound. I mean it." She waved the pipe around a bit, just in case he didn't get the point. He nodded fearfully.

Cuddy led the way towards where the guards had been and sure enough, they were gone. Everyone else followed her unthinkingly, and Wilson wondered when they'd decided she would be their leader. There hadn't really been much choice in the matter, he supposed. 

They all shuffled into a random exam room and Cuddy dragged Streed over to the other side with her. 

"Now what?" asked Cameron, looking around. 

"I thought--" Bilis began, but he was cut off by Streed, who took advantage their lack of attention and tried to bolt for the door.

He didn't get very far. Cuddy had not lied when she said she wasn't in the mood for tomfoolery, and with a terrifyingly guttural scream she launched herself at the governor, tackled him to the floor, and then grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up. "HOW _DARE_ YOU?" she shrieked in his face. Blood was running down his nose and it looked almost certainly broken. Everyone else took several steps back. Without bothering to wait for an answer she knew wasn't coming, Cuddy dragged herself up, grabbed the back of Streed's shirt, and hauled him up with her. Then, in an extremely impressive display, she manhandled him to the other side of the exam room, taking no care not to knock him against various furniture, and with some effort dumped him out right out of the window.

Nobody moved.

"Oops," said Cuddy in a disturbingly cheerful voice. They all heard a thud two stories down. "Silly me, I'm so clumsy." She turned back around and wiped her hands off on her blouse, then smiled at them.

They all backed away another step or two. 

"_Wow_," said Chase after a long minute, sounding breathy. "How did you do that?"

Cuddy's eyes narrowed. "Anyway, I actually came in here to collect some things. Then we'll go find Jack."

"I mean, he was twice the size of you at least!" Chase persisted.

"Help me out here. Grab anything you think might be useful, especially sedatives in case we need them for Gwen." Cuddy continued to ignore him.

"The window wasn't even open! You pushed him right through it!" Chase said wonderingly. Cuddy twitched. "How many bad guys have you taken down already? I think I've lost count!"

"Um, I think you'd better let it go," Wilson said, in an attempt to head off impending disaster.

"Are you, like, _Rambo_ in disguise or something?" Chase continued, completely failing to get the hint. 

"Let's go," Cuddy snapped, dropping a small pile of various gauze, needles, rubber gloves, and hand towels on the end of Gwen's gurney.

"No, no," said Chase as he was quickly wheeled out of the room by Cameron. "You must be Jackie Chan! Or, no, wait, Bruce Lee! In disguise!"

Cuddy continued to ignore him, and stalked ahead instead. "Shut _up_!" Cameron hissed at him. 

"Maybe she's Indiana Jones?" Chase mused. "Or Catwoman, hmmm, I bet House would like to see her in Halle Berry's Catwoman suit."

"ARRGGGGG!" Cuddy spun on one foot and stomped back towards Chase, who finally caught on and started cowering.

"No, no, I'm sorry! It was a joke! I don't really think you're Catwoman! AHHHHHHH!"

"Great," said Wilson. "We are making such progress. It's no wonder Jack ditched us." Bilis nodded absently.

**--**

Jack's wristband kept up an insistent beeping as the batteries-low indicator flashed on the display. Ianto burst into the next room and slammed the double-doors shut, turning the lock and wedging a chair under the knobs.

"All right. Let's get a scan for alien tech," he muttered. Judging from what he'd seen, there would be far too many hits to get a meaningful result, but that wasn't what he was after. Two seconds later, the wristband completed the operation, flashed the results on the screen and ran out of power. The image faded slowly, just long enough for him to get a glimpse of tunnels criss-crossing beneath the foundation of the mansion, each lined with what were probably gas lines.

Three bodies thudded against the doors, and the chair creaked under the stress. Through the frosted glass, Ianto saw more shadows appear even as the first set went down.

"It's locked!" someone yelled.

"Then fire!"

Ianto threw himself to the ground, but the expected gunshots never came. A screech of feedback tore through the house, and he glanced at the wristband, half-expecting to see it functioning again. The thing remained resolutely dead, however, which was not a good sign. He looked up and saw yellow gas drifting from the ventilation like a waterfall of dry ice. Faint echoes of a piano played in his ears, growing louder as a drum started up in the background. The feedback died away, replaced by light breathing.

"This one's for you, Ianto Jones," a voice said into the microphone, and it sounded like Howell but also somebody else. Ianto wondered whether the alien had gone insane. "Thanks for being a complete pain in my _khajzntp_."

He staggered into the next room, but the walls were turning into the contents of a lava lamp, complete with red and yellow glows. _Stage lights_, Ianto thought, _they look like stage lights._

"_You walk into the room..._" Howell began singing, somewhat hauntingly. "_With your pencil in your hand._"

Ianto kept moving even though the floor rocked beneath his feet like the deck of a ship, but darkness didn't close in and he maintained consciousness. Howell was toying with him! He was surprised the alien dared to after being defeated earlier, but he must feel safer now that he was in control of and removed from the situation.

_You see somebody naked and you..._ The words seemed to throb in his mind, a growing headache and a screaming cacophony.

_…say, "Who is that man?"_

A surging wave swept him off his feet, and he fell face-forward to the floor, which rose and fell over his hands, rippling like water as it passed. Footsteps approached from behind him. They were soft thuds that indicated bare feet on carpet. Ianto let the swells push him onto his back and he looked up to see Jack. A completely naked Jack.

"Wow," he said, before coming to his senses. He shook his head, slapping himself a few times, but the hallucination refused to fade. Jack stepped closer, and the waves calmed in a circle around him, as though even they were too awed to do anything.

_You try so haaaaaaard._

Ianto groaned and closed his eyes, but Jack bent over him and he could feel his presence even before they were physically touching. "What's wrong?" he whispered. "You're normally quite happy to see me." And then they were touching. There was _definitely_ touching going on.

_But you don't understand..._

…_you don't understand,..._ Jack gasped the words into his ear, cradling Ianto's head against his shoulderblade, and every time he spoke, Ianto could feel bits and pieces of his memory flutter away, evaporating, and then, even that realization was gone as he no longer remembered what he'd forgotten. But there was a deeper whisper, like the shaking of a rattlesnake's tail, and he concentrated on it, knowing he must ignore what Jack was doing to him, must remember, must remember to remember...

_Forget BRAIN, forget what we came here to do,_ Howell whispered. _You don't understand any of it, not anymore..._

As though compensating for the sudden slip, the song blared louder and Dylan roared. _You don't understand just what you'll say when you get home._

Home. The word cracked through haze like thunder and lightning as it brought the realization that Jack was not here. Ianto was _not_ home. It was a small aid, but enough, and Ianto used the last of his strength to push the naked illusion off him. The captain stumbled to his feet, and Ianto pushed himself away, expecting him to advance once more. Instead, Jack grinned. "Good job, Ianto," he said. "I knew you had it in you."

"_Excuse me_, sir?"

"Oh get your mind out of the gutter." But Jack looked pleased anyway. "Though that's not a bad idea, is it? Come on, you can manipulate the hallucination, right? Well, I'm telling you now, your subconscious knows what to do. Get up!"

"I can't!" Ianto tried to gain his balance once more, but the waves grew stronger, Jack's presence no longer impeding them at all. He reached out for a wall to push against, but that too had the consistency of jello.

_Because something is happening here_

"You can! Think!"

"It's kind of hard when you're naked and we're bouncing up and down on the floor!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Fine. I guess it isn't cheating if I say it, because everything I say, you're thinking. Sort of. So let's make it obvious. _I_ need to be _inside_ of _you_."

"There's a time and a place!"

Jack closed the gap between them in two steps. The ground might be undulating but he had no trouble navigating it. When Ianto's gaze strayed, he grabbed his head and brought his eyes up to meet his gaze.

_But you don't know what it is_

"There is only one way to counter the illusions," Jack spoke softly.

_Do you_

Ianto concentrated.

_Mister Jones_

"The energy from the time vortex!" he exclaimed. "But... you're not really here." His gaze dropped to his arm. "Is the residual energy enough?"

Jack shrugged. "Why don't you find out?"

Ianto nodded. He tore the wristband off and bit down on the end of it. The taste of leather and iron, along with a heavy dose of 51st century pheromones, hit him like a drug taking effect, and the room wobbled. For a moment, the surroundings turned back to normal, but then they _split_, and he could see both what the house looked like and what the gas was trying to make him see. The semi-transparent Jack looked noncommittal. "It's enough, isn't it?"

"Wha eef--" Ianto shook his head. If Jack was part of his own mind, he could ask the question more easily with thoughts. _What if I take it out of my mouth?_

"Then you lose the protection, don't you?"

In many ways, the new view was even more disorienting, but he heard screaming from where the guards had been caught up in their own hallucinations. He shuddered, wondering what they were seeing, and started running.

**--**

Owen woke up. He reached his left arm out to swat at the shouting blur above his face, which he was pretty certain was House.

At least, he thought he did. He frowned, suddenly unsure of himself, and tried again. Once more, House and his loud mouth failed to be slapped away. 

"Hey!" said Foreman somewhere to his left, but Owen ignored him. He tried his right arm, and this time he succeeded in swatting the side of House's head which caused an irritating grin but at least stopped the annoying chatter. Then House's face was gone and Owen sat up blearily and looked around.

He was on the floor of the morgue. Jack was helping Foreman up next to him, and House had moved on to making fun of both of them. He moved to stand up himself, but before he could, his left arm moved of its own accord, reaching outwards. 

"What--" he yelped, surprised, and tried waving it around. Next to him, Foreman slapped himself a couple times and looked very affronted. His own arm waved about frantically for a bit, not at all in the directions he was trying to wave it. 

"Alright," said Foreman, standing up. "What is going on here?"

House was laughing uproariously and even Jack looked amused despite his best efforts. 

"Foreman dropped the alien device on Owen's head, and it looks like it did a partial discharge," Jack explained.

"WHAT?" yelled Owen.

"We can't know for sure what happened," said Jack. "Obviously, not without your input. But it looks to me like Owen is controlling Foreman's left arm, and Foreman is controlling Owen's left arm."

"Yeah," said Owen slowly. "Yeah, that makes... sense."

"_Sense_? In what possible way does that make _sense_?" Foreman said. 

"What's up with him?" asked Owen, ignoring Foreman and focusing on House, who was still laughing. Jack glanced at House speculatively. 

"Misery loves company?" he suggested after a minute, then shrugged and turned. "Anyway, we've really got to get out of this stupid morgue. It's causing more troubles than it's worth."

Fore man was still getting over the idea of being linked to Owen. "I _hate_ you," he said. 

Owen shrugged at him. At least, half of him did. Then half of Foreman shrugged back at him. "You dropped it, mate."

Jack prodded House in the right direction. House abruptly stopped laughing.

"We have to get that damn thing back now," he demanded. "As amusing as this whole thing with the two minions is, I am _not_ enjoying being, ugh, linked with you." 

"What?" asked Owen.

"I can't do that. I need to find Tosh; believe it or not, she's better at this stuff than I am," said Jack.

"Oh, I believe it," muttered House under his breath.

"No seriously, what? You guys are linked too?" Owen persisted. 

"Shut up," snapped House. 

Foreman sighed. "Trust me, it's not worth it," he told Owen. Owen relented. The four of them exited the morgue with relish and surveyed the heavily damaged hospital first floor. A couple of busy nurses stared at them but said nothing.

"I bet Cuddy's throwing an absolute fit," House observed. 

"We should really find them," said Jack, looking guilty.

"I'd really rather not."

"I told them we'd all work together as a team, and then I sort of ran off."

"I don't blame you."

"It wasn't on _purpose_. I didn't even notice they weren't right behind me!"

"That's a lie, and I know it. You ditched them! I could hear Chase yelling!"

"Shut up."

"Will you two stop bickering?" Foreman cut in while Jack glared at House, who looked unperturbed. 

"Where's Gwen?" said Owen, sounding worried. 

"Um, as far as I know, she's with everyone else," Jack said. "That's where she was when I got separated from them, anyway. Oh." He adopted a chagrined look. "Don't freak out, Owen, but Bilis is with them."

"_Bilis_? What is that bastard doing there? Oh, I will kill him!" Owen made to stomp off across the hospital lobby, but Jack clapped a hand down on his shoulder to stop him.

"I said, don't freak out," he reiterated. "He's not doing any harm, as far as I can see. I think he really likes Gwen." 

"Ew." Owen looked a little sick. 

"Anyway," said Foreman, "let's go find them before we get attacked by more aliens."

House led the way down a random corridor. 

"Um, I really don't think this is the right way," Jack said. House ignored him in favor of gleefully opening every door in what he probably thought was a dramatic fashion. "House, this isn't where we were before. I don't think they're this way!" Jack tried again. House continued to ignore him. "Fine." Jack sighed and gave up. 

They passed an overturned cart that had once held all the food trays now spilled all over the floor. Owen stopped to collect all the stray pudding cups he could fit in his pockets, then, with a dirty look at his left arm, used his teeth to open one with relish. 

"What?" he said defensively to Jack, who had raised an eyebrow at him. "I was stuck in a car boot for a day, and then almost immediately afterwards I got stuck in the morgue! I haven't exactly had anything to eat lately, have I? I'm starving!" Jack shrugged at him and turned around to catch up with House. Foreman also shrugged, and picked up a pudding cup for himself. 

House slammed open another door and dramatically swept in to check it, but this time several piercing yelps stopped him in his path. 

"Ahh!" he shouted back, startled by the sudden, unexpected noise.

"House!" someone said. 

"What!" he shouted back. Then he added, "Oh. I found them." Jack walked in behind him.

"What are you guys doing in here?" he asked. Wilson, Cameron, and Cuddy all looked uncomfortable.

"Well," said Bilis, who had pulled a stool up next to Gwen's gurney. Tracy was standing menacingly behind him, ready to protect the unconscious Gwen from untoward advances. "Chase here was provoking Doctor Cuddy, and so Doctor Cuddy became, shall we say, a little upset. We came in here to treat the bruises."

"We were on our way to find you guys, though," added Wilson. Owen and Foreman walked in.

"Owen!" said Cameron, brightening. "I'm glad you're okay!"

"Oh, yeah, no greeting for me, thanks Cameron," grumbled Foreman.

"Hi Foreman," said Cameron obligingly. 

"You beat up Chase?" House asked Cuddy brightly. She snarled at him. "Ooo, very sexy, the feral look! I like it! Oh, hi Wilson."

"Good to see you, House," said Wilson, while everyone else stared incredulously at him. "I was worried."

"Anyway!" said Jack. "I'm worried about Gwen. We need to do something about these ridiculous aliens traipsing about and get this hospital back in order so we can get to work on helping her."

"Actually, I've already taken care of the second bit. The National Guard is having an emergency generator shipped in, and repairs are to begin immediately," Cuddy informed them. Jack looked impressed.

"Great! So the only issue is the aliens. We need to find their leader and take care of him."

"Or her," said Tracy reproachfully.

"Er, yeah, or her," Jack said. "Dr. House, why don't you and your team stay here and monitor Gwen while Owen and I go take care of that? I believe Tosh and Ianto are already working on it."

"Fat chance," House scoffed. "I'm coming with you. I want to see some more of this!" 

"Me too," said Cameron.

"You're not going without me," said Chase.

"Oh no you don't, House, you're not getting away again!" said Cuddy.

"Wilson is coming too," said House.

"I want to come!" said Tracy. 

"I'll stay here with Miss Cooper," said Bilis. Tracy smacked him on the back of the head. 

"Oh, no," said Jack. "You are not all coming with me! No freaking way. I need people here to stay with Gwen and make sure she's okay! And I am _not_ leaving her alone with _him_!" 

House looked around. "Tracy will stay. I don't want her to come anyway; she's not part of the gang."

"What--!" said Tracy.

"Bad girl. Stay. No cookie," said House.

"We'll be back soon. I hope," consoled Wilson. 

"Just her?" said Jack, aghast. "You think she's enough?" 

"She's like a one-man army!" Chase put in. Tracy growled at him. "Er, one-woman army?" he amended. She stopped growling, but only looked slightly mollified.

"You don't want Gwen to DIE and all be your fault, do you?" said House.

"Whatever." Jack gave up. "Let's just get out of here before it's too late, alright?"

"Where, exactly, are we going?" asked Cuddy.

"Er," said Owen.

"Right," said Jack, and pulled out a small tracking device. "I stuck a tracer on Smythe," he explained to everyone who hadn't been there. 

"Who's Smythe?" asked Cameron. 

"A bad guy," said House. "He stole the thingie!"

"Some army bigwig. A colonel, I think it was," Jack said.

"Thingie, right," said Cameron dryly. 

"He means the alien device, the thing House was carrying around that's caused no end of trouble," Jack clarified. "We're trying to figure out how to use it so we can reverse the effects and get Chase and Cameron back in your own bodies. Also..."

Owen raised Foreman's arm. "Yeah," he said. "We've been partially linked also. We're controlling each others' arm."

"Weird," said Wilson. Foreman nodded solemnly. House noticed that Jack didn't bother to mention their own ridiculous link and approved. 

"Anyway, judging from the direction Smythe is heading and the fact that Ianto and Tosh are already there, I'd say he's heading towards Drumthwacket," said Jack.

"Drumthwacket?" said Owen, laughing. He unconsciously tried to move his arm and ended up making Foreman smack himself in the forehead. Foreman glared at him but declined to retaliate.

"The governor's mansion," said Jack.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

**--**

Ianto was in trouble. There was a wall in front of him with a door in it. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that both the wall and the door were transparent, which meant either there was a door there and Howell was masking it by showing him a wall, or there was a wall there and Howell was tricking him into thinking it was a door. The residual energy on the wristband was enough to prevent the hallucinations him from overwhelming him, but Howell had caught on by the time he made it into the basement and shifted his strategy. Now the walls were no longer melting and the floor wasn't trying to buck him off. They were merely pretending to be things that they weren't.

And by itself, this new predicament would not be an issue either, because he could just reach for the handle and see if it existed. The _main_ problem was the fact that the door-that-might-not-be-a-door was one of a row of thirty stretching along a concrete-lined hallway.

"Damn," Ianto said. A thought occurred to him. "Open sesame!"

Willing the doors to open, twenty-nine obeyed and one did not. Grinning, he ran over and pulled it open.

There was a giant pit flickering in the ground beyond. He tapped the surface with the front of his left foot and felt solid ground, but at the same time, a ripple of purple light expanded from the point of contact. _Force field,_ he realized. _Tricky._

He sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth and realized that was a mistake as the scent of Jack's wristband sent him into a coughing spasm. It began slipping out of his mouth, and he grabbed it to hold it in place. The ground faded further before regaining a stalemate with the pit. _So the pit must be the hallucination!_

Ianto closed his eyes and stepped out. When he opened them again, the pit was gone. He started running, only to be confronted by a second pit. He peered into the dim hall and saw a repeating pattern of three meters of ground followed by three meters of hallucinations for as far as he could see. It would take days to navigate, and he had felt an intense pressure upon his head the moment the wristband had slipped from his mouth. Given half a chance, Howell would use every opening he got to send Ianto deeper and deeper into the hallucination. He couldn't risk testing every pit.

So he walked forward, certain that no one was ridiculous enough to dig a pit in the middle of a hallway. He was halfway across the surface when the force field gave out, and he plummeted into the darkness.

**--**

Rhys awoke with a throbbing headache and the obscure feeling he was being violated. _Odd_, he thought, then opened his eyes.

"AHHHHHH!" His scream echoed around the cavernous room as he scrambled frantically backwards. The massive winged creature stared at him with--beyond all reason--a distinctly affronted look.

Rhys stared back at it. "_What_ were you _doing_ to me?" he shouted at it. It cocked its head to one side and stared. Not for long, though, as soon it apparently decided everything was fine and it advanced on Rhys with what could only be called lust in its eyes. Rhys let out an unmanly shriek, stumbled to his feet, and ran. 

For the first time he noticed where he was, or rather, where he wasn't, which was Cardiff. At least, as far as he knew. The massive room was unlike anything he'd ever seen in Cardiff, at any rate. He could just see a hole in the ceiling though masses of wires and metal blocks, the purpose of which he could only guess at. The brief glimpse of stars told him that what he was seeing was probably sky, which meant he was probably underground, and that it was night.

Last he remembered it had been day. _What happened?_ he thought frantically. 

He tripped dramatically over a badly angled bit of flooring and went sprawling. 

"AHHHH!" he screamed again as the amorous pterodactyl descended upon him in an unfortunate manner and began, once again, violating his leg.

**--**

_You raise up your head_

Ianto groaned once he was sure he'd stopped bouncing up and down as on a trampoline. The ground was spongy underneath him, and he guessed it was some sort of elastic foam designed to cushion the fall.

_And you say, "Is this where it is?"_

Why was Howell still singing? The song came from a distance, like a garbled radio transmission. Jack's wristband remained between his teeth, though his jaw was sore from the effort of holding onto it during the fall. He gnashed on it a bit as he waited for the adrenaline to stop rushing through his system. Doubtless, its protection was what was keeping Howell's voice--quite good for an alien--at bay.

_And somebody points to you and says_

"Nobody's pointing anything at me," Ianto mumbled. Above him, a faint glow outlined the rectangular opening he'd fallen through. From its size, he judged he'd fallen some twenty feet.

_"It's his."_

"What's mine?" Ianto fumbled around a bit, wondering if he'd dropped something important.

_And somebody else says, "Where what is?"_

"Okay, now you're just speaking gibberish." He looked around, but the pit was pitch black. "I don't even see any vents or electronic equipment. What's generating the hallucinations?"

Howell ignored him. _"And you say:"_

Ianto glared into the darkness.

_And you say..._

Ianto tapped his foot. He heard a crackly sigh.

_"And you say..."_ Howell's voice turned high-pitched and squeaky. _"'Oh my God am I here all alone?"_

"I do _not_ sound like that."

_Because something is happening here._

There was a rustling sound.

_But you don't know what it is._

Ianto stepped back into the rectangle of light coming down through the hole, keeping himself as far from the edges of darkness as possible.

_Do you_

The rustling resolved itself into light metallic clanking, like little feet tapping against the ground. Scurrying...

_Mister Jones?_

The sound of servos turning gave Ianto about half a second to react before five-foot long spider droid soared through the light at his face. He had brief flashbacks to _Alien_ before he screamed and punched it.

His fist hurt a lot, and so did the rest of him when the droid's momentum sent them both sliding along the floor. Remembering his last encounter with the model in the hospital, he expected it to draw its blades on him immediately, but instead, it just sat on him. A panel about three centimeters in diameter opened up on the main body of the droid, revealing a thin grating.

_"You hand in your ticket..."_ Howell sang through the speakers.

Ianto groaned. "Shut up and go away!" he yelled, hoping the thing worked as a microphone too. The droid lowered itself further onto him, leaving him too busy gasping for breath to curse it. A second panel opened, revealing a color TV set.

_To go watch the geek._

The screen flicked on, and he saw Tosh huddled in a square meter prison cell. "Tosh!" he gasped, not expecting any response, but she looked at the camera and her eyebrows shot up.

_Who suddenly walks up to you_

Tosh punched the camera.

_When she hears you speak._

The camera floated up out of her reach. There was no sound, but she appeared to unleash a string of invectives at whatever was recording her. _Go Tosh,_ Ianto thought. It was unlike her, though, to lose control so thoroughly.

_And says, 'How does it feel to be such a freak?"_

The droid lifted itself up a few centimeters to give Ianto breathing room as Howell sang, _"And you say, 'Impossible.'"_

"Screw you," Ianto said. He reached up and felt the edges of a yet-unopened panel on the robot and dug his fingers into them. He pulled and sparks flew as he revealed the power pack. Closing his eyes, he head-butted the droid, slamming Jack's wristband against the charger.

Even through his eyelids, the arcing electricity turned the world white, but seconds later, the droid fell backward and bounced out of the rectangle of light, clanging as it went. Ianto extracted the wristband just far enough to see that it was charged again. Good old 51st century technology.

He keyed in a search for nearby organic life forms and located one. Dragging the broken droid along for light--its broken components sparked nicely--he saw that one end of the corridor was a dead end while the other led into an elliptical hall with numerous dead ends branching off like spokes of a wheel. He supposed it was a trap of sorts, meant to hold prisoners the aliens wanted alive, because as far as he could tell, there was no way back up.

The moment he entered the central roundabout, the singing started up again. He tensed, expecting another droid, but saw none for the entire slow curve of the passageway.

_You've been with the professors, and they've all liked your looks._

There were doors along the interior of the ellipse. Cells. He examined the nearest one, but it was solid metal. Tapping it, he guessed it was about a hands' length in thickness, but sound should be able to carry fine. He pounded on the door. "Tosh?" he yelled. There was no response.

_With great lawyers and scholars you have discussed lepers and crooks._

Door by door he went, the wristband only able to tell him there was someone inside, but without knowing the shape of the cells, it was impossible to be certain which entrance was correct.

_You think the world of F. Scott Fitzgerald's books._

"Toshiko!" he yelled. An extra large fountain of sparks burst from the droid in response.

_You're very well read. It's well known._

Ianto was certain he'd made a full circuit, but he didn't give up. Biting down harder on the wristband didn't make the singing stop, so he blocked it from his mind. It was becoming eerie, with Howell's voice creating echoes as though he were lurking just behind Ianto.

He realized that dragging the droid around might be making too much racket, he took care to pause before each door. About eight doors afterwards, he heard a faint scratching in response to his pounding. "Tosh?" he said, pressing himself against the door to let his voice carry.

"Help!" The response sounded almost like a whisper, as though it was taking the person all his energy to speak. The voice was pitched enough to identify the speaker as male.

"Monty?" Ianto said. No response. "Tap once for 'yes.'" The door clanged. "All right, stand back and I'll get you out!"

During his long walk, he'd noticed this droid possessed a handy-looking device that resembled a laser torch. A sonic blast from the wristband weakened the metal enough for him to wrench the torch off. He flicked it on and sliced around the edges of the door, preferring to aim for the hinges rather than cut through so much steel.

The door shook and groaned as the torch made its way around, leaving a trail of molten metal that looked like red and gold streamers. As he cut through the last hinge, it shook and collapsed inward.

_Well, you walk into the room like a camel and then you frown._

Monty lay on his side, and even by the droid's intermittent glow Ianto could see something was wrong. He rushed in and reached for Monty's arm, which he was cradling above him, recoiling when he felt blood.

"What's wrong?"

"Attack dogs," Monty said, his voice hoarse as a man who'd just wandered out of a desert.

_You put your eyes in your pocket and your nose on the ground._

Ianto put a hand on Monty's forehead. "You're feverish. Can you stand up?" But even as he talked, he saw Monty's out unfocus. He cursed as the smell of gas touched his nostrils. Holding his breath, he took the wristband out of his mouth and said, "Bite on this."

Monty didn't respond, so Ianto forced it into his mouth. "What? Ugh. Tastes nasty, don't need medicine," Monty muttered.

"Medicine's exactly what you need," Ianto said. Monty looked in no condition to be wandering the mansion with him. Sighing, he took the wristband back and watched Monty fall into a stupor again.

A second scan for alien tech revealed a second elliptical corridor beneath the one he'd been in, only this one appeared to have an exit on the south end. There was also another human life form detected.

_There ought to be a law against you comin' around._

"I'll be right back, all right, Monty?"

Monty groaned. "Governor isn't..." he said, his voice trailing off into unintelligible murmurs. Ianto waved a hand in front of his face, but Monty continued to stare into nothing. "'In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel...'" he said, sounding like he was singing.

Ianto groaned. "Not you too."

"'...To show that all's equal...and that the courts are on the level...'"

_You should be made to be carrying, at all times, a telephone._

"Listen, I just have to get Tosh and some medicine for you. Then we'll all get out of here. Just wait, ok? Just wait here."

Monty's eyes went wide and he grabbed Ianto's arm. Ianto nearly fell backward in surprise. "Tosh. She thinks... I betrayed her. Save her." His fingers lost their strength, and he rolled onto his back. "'Now is the time for your tears,'" he sang to the ceiling.

Ianto chewed harder on the wristband, debating whether he should try to bring Monty along on his back. But no, the man was too weak as it was. Ianto left the room and turned left, where the scan told him a ladder was hidden, descending to the lower level. Howell's song followed him through the darkness.

_Because something is happening here._

In the silence left by Ianto's absence, Monty stopped singing. Trapped halfway between delirium and hallucination, his senses nevertheless alerted him that something was wrong. Like an animal aware that a storm was on the horizon, he stared upward and waited.

_But you don't know what it is._

Too late, he realized the silence wasn't complete. A slithering sound became apparent over the soft hiss of ventilation. Monty turned his head, seeing and not quite seeing as a silhouette stepped in from the right side of the door and filled the entryway.

"Do you, Mister Jones?"

Howell stepped into the room, half human and half beast. Monty let out a moan as the gas stopped flowing and he recognized the figure. "No, no," he said. Howell grinned, his flashlight revealing the rows and rows of glowing teeth. His figure flickered, then solidified into human form. In his hand was a gleaming rod not unlike the one he and Tosh had discovered. He stepped closer, and Monty began struggling, but his head spun, and he lost his sense of direction every time he tried to think. _Fever,_ he remembered Ianto saying. "Fever..."

"'There must be some way out of here,'" Howell whispered, a sneer on his face, "said the joker to the thief."

"No, go away, stay away." Monty tried to push him back, but he might as well be pushing a building.

The device was cold as it pressed into his scalp. Howell's lips brushed against Monty's right ear.

_There's too much confusion. I can't get no relief._

**--**

They had made it all the way to the lobby when the aliens attacked.

"I though you got them out of the hospital!" Jack screamed at Cuddy.

"I got the National Guard out! I didn't know there were more of _them_!" Cuddy screamed back as she shoved Chase's wheelchair hard, sending him careening down an opposite hallway and to relative safety. At the end, he tipped over, shouting all the while. 

There were three of the aliens, and that was plenty. They hadn't bothered with their illusions and appeared exactly as they really were, giant and red and pulsating, with too many tentacles and a gaping maw. They whirled towards the group with a speed and precision that belied their appearance.

Cuddy picked up a chair. Cameron scrambled around for a weapon and came up with a keyboard, Jack pulled out one of the handguns he'd purloined earlier from an unconscious soldier and threw the other one to Owen. Wilson put his coat over his head and hid behind Cuddy. 

"House!" Jack roared. "Take Owen with you and _go_! We'll catch up!"

House glanced around and decided that he probably didn't want to stay. "Uhh... Foreman! You come too!"

"Why me!" Foreman said, but didn't argue.

"Well, you're black, so you've probably been in tons of gang fights, right?"

"No!" Foreman shouted as the three of them used an opening Cuddy made for them by tossing her chair and escaped out the front doors.

"Right," Jack said grimly, once they'd gone. "Let's do this."


	16. Chapter 11: The Highly Unlikely

**Chapter 11**

**The Highly Unlikely But Otherwise Excellent Adventures of Gregory House and Friends**

House navigated himself through the still gently smoking ruins that used to be the PPTH parking garage. He wasn't happy. It was well past midnight, and he should have been home over nine hours ago. If it weren't for the stupid aliens mind-linking him with that overzealous Captain, he would have said "screw it" and gone home anyway. 

"Where are we going? We have to get to the governor's mansion!" Owen protested. House shushed him, but otherwise didn't make any indication he'd heard him. It was slow going, because House had to be careful picking his way through the wreckage with his leg, but they eventually came across a small clearing where the room had, amazingly, held up. 

Right below it was a motorcycle with a sidecar.

"Wonderful!" said House, his face lighting up.

"You've got to be kidding me," groaned Foreman.

"Is that _his_ motorcycle?" said Owen incredulously.

"Of course it is!" House beamed at it.

"He drives a _motorcycle_?" Owen asked Foreman. 

"Apparently, the limp doesn't get in the way," Foreman explained. 

"I can't believe it survived," said Owen, surveying the crushed cars all around them. Foreman shrugged. 

"Someone up there hates me," he said.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" said House, already gunning the engine. "Get in!" He motioned to the sidecar.

"Oh, hell no!" said Owen. "I am _not_ getting in that thing!"

"Since when do you have a sidecar?" said Foreman suspiciously. 

"I bring it along on days I think I might get lucky," said House. "Now get in." Foreman sighed and gave up, climbing in.

"Ooooh, no," protested Owen. "No way am I getting in that thing! I have a deathly fear of motorcycle sidecars!"

House huffed dramatically. "Fine," he said. "Get behind me. But don't hold on too tight! That's the last thing I want."

Owen hesitated, then climbed carefully on. "Right!" said House, a little too gleefully. "Here we go!" He gunned the engine and shot forward through a giant hole in the wall and out the other side. The motorcycle landed, thankfully, on clear grass. House swerved to avoid a large block of concrete, then headed for the road.

"You're going too fast!" Owen wailed.

"Nonsense! Time is of the essence!" House shouted back over the roar of the engine. He ran a red light and took a corner going sixty, then sped up. Foreman was holding on for dear life but it was hard, since he really only had one arm to work with. The other kept flailing about wildly and trying to hug an invisible person in from of him as Owen panicked about the motorcycle.

"Stop flailing!" Foreman shouted to Owen. "You're making my arm go wild!"

"Sorry!" Owen said and tried to calm down. "Make me hold on tighter, then!"

"Heads up!" said House. "Aliens driving a truck at six o'clock!"

"Where?" said Foreman.

"Behind us!" said Owen.

"Shit," said Foreman. Owen pulled out his gun and aimed a shot at the oncoming delivery truck. It went through the windshield, but missed everyone inside. The driver looked human (though he probably wasn't), but the thing in the passenger's seat was definitely not. 

Foreman ducked down into the sidecar, missing a blast of answering fire by less than an inch. Owen was having a hard time firing with only one hand to work with. He had very little time to aim before having to steady himself on the back of the motorcycle again.

"House! Stop driving so wildly! I can't aim!" he yelled. 

"If I do they'll hit me!" House told him. "If they put marks on my motorcycle, they're going to PAY FOR IT!"

"Owen!" Foreman said. "Switch places with me!"

"Absolutely not!"

"Do it or we're all dead! You'll be able to aim from here!"

"I can't!"

"Just do it!"

"We're going eighty miles an hour _in town_! I'll get thrown off at a curve!"

"Arg!" Foreman said in frustration, then grabbed Owen by the back of his jacket and threw him into the sidecar. 

"AHHHH!" Owen screamed. 

"Shut up and get off me so I can get out of this blasted thing!" Foreman told him. Owen continued panicking. House took a curve at a particularly dangerous angle and both of them almost flew out of the sidecar. "AHHHHH!" they shrieked together. Foreman used the recovering momentum to shove Owen off him and onto the tiny, dirty floor of the sidecar. Then he shakily stood and half-climbed, half-leapt onto the back of the motorcycle.

"Nice!" said House, approving of this daring move. 

"Drive!" said Foreman. The truck was gaining on them. Another shot just barely missed. Owen was slowly and loudly recovering in the sidecar. "Stop yelling and get over it!" Foreman yelled at him. Owen stopped screaming but kept up a steady stream of gibbering noises even as he righted himself, turned around, and took aim. 

Owen's next shot hit the alien in the passenger seat, but it didn't seem to hurt it at all.

"Shit!" he said. "A handgun isn't good enough for this!"

"It's all we've got, so shoot!" House shouted at him and ran through three more stop signs. A cop in a police car coming up from a side road saw him and the wildly swerving truck behind him, turned on his sirens, and began chasing after them.

"Great," said Foreman. "Just what we needed." Neither House nor Owen heard him over the roaring of the engines and the blaring sirens, but all three of them noticed when the truck swerved partially onto the sidewalk and took out a whole row of mailboxes.

"I don't think aliens make very good drivers!" said House over the din. By this point, shots were ringing out all around them, most just barely missing. One dinged off the sidecar causing Owen to squeak loudly and House to swear creatively. 

"YOU'D BETTER BE PLANNING ON FIXING THAT!" he roared back, shaking his fist.

"Just drive, _please_!" Foreman said, hanging on for dear life. Owen fired another shot, which hit the driver in the chest. The truck swerved dramatically onto a lawn and almost hit a tree but was back on the road a couple seconds later.

"Nothing stops them!" Owen shouted. The cop had started firing his own gun at them, and as they rounded the next corner two more cop cars joined them, both with their sirens screaming. 

"Hang on!" was the only warning House gave before turning the motorcycle sharply into a lightly wooded area.

"What! Are you _doing_!" shouted Owen, who had thrown himself to the bottom of the sidecar but was still clinging to it desperately to avoid being thrown out.

"Shortcut!" House shouted back. The truck burst explosively through the line of trees a second later.

"A _shortcut_ through a _forest_?" shouted Foreman.

"I've always wanted to do this!" said House.

"You're insane!" cried Owen. House skillfully maneuvered the motorcycle around the larger trees, but the truck didn't bother. The police cars had apparently decided not to take the same route, but the faint continued sounds of the sirens told everyone they had gone to head them off at the end.

Thirty terrifying seconds later, House burst through the trees and back onto the road.

"Ah hah!" he proclaimed proudly. Owen gibbered. "We're almost to the highway!" The cop cars shot out from another road about forty yards behind him, and a second later the truck burst from the forest, right in front of them. They heard a crunching sound that indicated at least one of the cars hadn't been able to stop in time. House sped forward. 

The truck was having difficulties turning back around the right way and House took full advantage of this. A cop had gotten out of his car and was shouting at the man driving. He apparently hadn't noticed the alien in the next seat. 

"Shoot at them!" House said to Owen.

"No point! It'll just waste bullets!" Owen said. House turned a corner the next second anyway, and sped down another road. Less than a minute later they merged onto a highway, and not too far behind them the truck, which had gotten itself moving again, followed them. 

One of its tires was shot out, and it was causing it to swerve even more wildly than before, sparks flying everywhere. Cars on either side moved to get out of its way and House sped up again and maneuvered himself between two semis. 

"Shoot the tires!" Foreman shouted at Owen. Owen aimed a shot at one of the front tires and hit. The truck careened to the side and barely managed to avoid the ditch. It slowed down considerably. 

Owen was shrieking non-stop once again at the two massive eighteen-wheelers on either side of them. House stepped on the gas and shot out in front of them at eighty miles an hour. 

The truck was getting further and further behind them and either the aliens had run out of bullets or they'd decided House was out of range. 

"They're persistent," Foreman commented, when the truck still didn't pull off the highway.

It was another ten heart-stoppingly horrifying minutes before House took an exit, cutting off a minivan as he did so. The minivan honked angrily, but House completely ignored it and also Owen, who was shouting obscenities at him. 

When it was clear the truck wasn't going to catch up with them, House slowed minimally, but still took the opportunity to skid onto the lawn, leaving deep tire tracks, when they reached the mansion. 

Owen leapt out instantly and took a couple wobbly steps before falling on his face, still cursing madly. 

"That was fun!" said House brightly. 

"It is _dark_ out!" said Owen. "You need to drive carefully when it's dark out!" 

"I think the pursuing aliens might have been the priority," said Foreman. "Still, I think the forest was overkill."

"Oh, shut up," said House. "I got us here, didn't I?"

**--**

A warbling squeal gave Ianto about a second's warning to throw himself away from the malfunctioning droid before it exploded. Debris shattered in every direction, and he heard a clang like a gong, accompanied by a shrill scream, as the door of the cell tore from its hinges and embedded itself into a wall.

When the smoke cleared, he lowered the arm shielding his head and glanced over to find a gaping a hole in the floor where the doorway had been. Twisted metal shards lay everywhere while a few broken beams poked through the hole, red lights dancing on them from the flames below, making the whole scene resemble a huge cook pot that had just boiled over.

Toshiko was kneeling in the cell, hands still hovering in front of her face, as she parted a few fingers to glare at him from the other side of the wreckage. "I thought you said you were going to cut through the door," she said. "I did not expect the door to try to cut through me."

"Sorry. A fuse in the droid must have shorted and caused the power to overload." He hesitated. "Can you climb over?"

Tosh did not bother looking at the hole. Instead, she squinted and peered at something behind him. "Was that the escape route?" she asked.

Ianto turned around and instead of seeing the glowing compartment of a lift waiting to whisk them back above ground, was confronted with a dark, brick-lined shaft. "Where'd the lift go?" he said, aware his voice had gone up a pitch or so.

A loud crash answered his question, sounding like it'd traveled a long distance. Tosh lifted an eyebrow, imitating him perfectly. "I think," she said, "the appropriate question now is: 'Can we climb _down_?'"

Ianto shuffled to the edge and looked down. Though the way looked hazardous, the jagged metal almost formed a ladder, and the floor below appeared stable. "We should go back for Monty, then."

"Monty?" Tosh's eyes went wide. "He's here? In the _cells_?"

Ianto nodded. "He's delirious from his injuries, and they've been gassing him with hallucinogens. I guess it's a good thing they don't know you got out of Hell."--Tosh grimaced at the recollection--" I was going to go back for him once we got medication, but since the lift is gone, it'll be better if we carry him along."

Tosh put a hand to her mouth, as though she were about to cry, but she just nodded. "All right, let's hurry."

"There's a ladder not far from here leading..." Ianto stopped. His hand went to his belt for a gun he did not have.

Tosh balanced herself against the edge of the wall and peered over. "What's wrong? I..." she gasped. Her voice went flat. "He doesn't look very delirious to me."

Emerging into the light of the flames, Monty strode toward them like a cat stalking prey. His face was expressionless but the gun he pointed at Ianto expressed plenty. He paused a meter away and gave him a quavering smile. "I've never shot anyone before," Monty said. The safety went off with a click.

Tosh screamed, a primal thing filled with rage and pain that sent Ianto reeling back to memories of another alien invasion, of the attack in London and the months of pain and betrayal that followed. If it hadn't been for that, he wouldn't have paid so much attention to Monty, but he remembered those moments, the need to believe all his love had not been for naught, and so when Tosh threw herself over the pit, soaring a superhuman distance to close the gap between herself and the man who had destroyed her heart, he saw Monty's entire body quiver for just a moment, as though he were fighting off a freezing wind, before he whirled around, took aim at the new threat and fired.

**--**

Tracy studied her cards. She had a seven of spades and a queen of clubs, which was quite good in her mind, even if the table was showing her a four and nine of hearts, along with a jack of diamonds. "We're all winners as long as we think positive," she said to Bilis, who was twitching as he glared at his cards. When they'd started the game, Tracy had threatened that if she so much as _suspected_ he was bending time and space to cheat, she would beat him senseless with the jar of cotton swabs. 

"I meet your tongue depressor and raise you a box of sample allergy pills," she announced, pushing forward the specified items. She grinned. Bilis would have to go all in to match her wager, as he only had two cotton swabs and a band-aid left.

Bilis' eyelids fluttered as he stared at the cards. He lay them down on the table and removed from his pocket an antique stopwatch hanging on a gold chain. It swung as though trying to hypnotize her. "May I interest you in allowing me to substitute my wager with this authentic 1700 Swiss--"

Tracy slapped the table. "No items of monetary value allowed! Gambling is bad and, in New Jersey, attracts mobsters within thirty-one point four seven seconds."

"I think you're bluffing."

"Then go all in."

Bilis shook his head. "I fold." He revealed his hand, a two of diamonds and five of clubs. They discovered that, had the game continued, Tracy would've gotten a straight. Bilis glowered. "Your luck is unbelievable."

"Actually, it's karma. A fortune-teller told me that in my last life, I was a butterfly in Russia where human error nearly caused them to launch two hundred nuclear warheads at the United States, but I flew into the mainframe and caused the computer to catch on fire, saving hundreds of millions of lives in the process. Oh look, it appears a portion of the wall has teleported away."

Bilis turned around in time to see a flash of light, followed by the wall--and accompanying pieces of furniture nailed to it--deciding that the room should get a better look at the natural landscape outside. A helicopter piloted by aliens foiled the wall's plan by blocking the view.

"How unpleasant," Bilis commented. "Tracy, be a dear, please, and hand me the sample of nasal spray." Tracy obliged. Bilis walked up to the edge of the room, ignoring the blades spinning centimeters from his head. "Hello, mind if I join you?" he asked. He blinked into the space between the two occupants of the cockpit and sprayed the contents of the bottle into the pilot's eyeballs.

The alien let out a pitched scream and the helicopter jerked a bit too close to the room. The blades caught the ceiling tiles and shattered, but by the time the helicopter started exploding, Bilis had teleported back next to Gwen and Tracy and pushed them out of the room.

They dashed down the hall, followed by tongues of flame as the roar of the explosion rushed down the hall, rattling windows and shaking doors, though Tracy found the atmosphere of their daring escape ruined somewhat by the fact that Gwen had started snoring.

"I thought the fabulous Rambo doctor had taken care of the menace," Bilis said.

"She only got rid of the National Guard. I assume the aliens answer to a higher authority than Governor Streed."

"I don't believe anyone answers to Governor Streed any longer."

"That's beside the point! The question is what they want with us!"

"I believe Ms. Cooper is the only one of us on the wanted list."

Tracy was about to comment that it was a good thing they were now deep in the hospital when the ceiling collapsed on them. She screamed as a cart fell toward them, but it stopped just inches above her head, hovering as though time had stopped, before soaring back upward again.

"What the--" Tracy began, but then she realized her feet were no longer touching the ground. "Oh."

The three of them soared upward past the third floor, through the gaping hole in the ceiling and up into the sky. Thankfully, Gwen's gurney and IV accompanied the patient in flight. Less thankfully, pieces of plaster and empty syringes floated about them as though caught in a tornado. A squawking chicken slammed into Bilis' back before being sucked up ahead of them.

A flying saucer loomed overhead, only the aliens appeared to have taken the etymological suggestion of the phrase far too seriously, for it was literally a floating saucer with what appeared, from their rapidly approaching perspective beneath it, to be a teacup placed on top. Tracy decided she did not want to spend the rest of the night as a sugar cube, so she grabbed hold of Gwen's gurney and swiveled to face Bilis. Judging by the fact that everything was rising in a cone with the tip originating from the center of the saucer, now was a good time to apply Newton's Third Law and push each other out of the levitation beam. She told this to Bilis, who did not seem to think this was a good idea, on account of the fact that they were a hundred feet above the hospital and rising.

"Do you have a better idea?" she yelled over the roar of rushing air.

"Yes," Bilis replied. He grabbed both of them and the surroundings turned into a beach next to a sapphire blue ocean. Palm trees swayed in the warm breeze, and a falling coconut knocked Bilis unconscious.

"Great," Tracy said. "How are we going to get back?"

Gwen replied by drooling on her hand. Tracy did not find this disturbing, as she was a nurse and saw this sort of thing on a regular basis, but she did wipe the saliva off on Bilis' coat. His fingers twitched like a closing bear trap, and Tracy screamed. The man showed no other signs of consciousness, but she realized her hand was being pulled slowly but inexorably, like a pink and well-manicured glacier, toward Bilis' face. It was like a vampire movie gone horribly wrong.

"Is that the smell of Ms. Gwen Cooper?" Bilis said, inhaling with the force of a vacuum cleaner and about as much noise. "It is like the scent of ambrosia sent down from heaven." He raised his head and looked over. "I must have teleported us into the future whereupon they have recognized her as the beguiling nymph that she is and turned her essence into perfume so that every woman can possess a drop of pure, raw, animal sexuality."

"She drooled on me."

"Ah," Bilis said, pressing her hand against his cheek. "I live for the day that I can sample that nectar from its source."

_Now_ Tracy was disturbed. She resolved the demands of this unpleasant emotion by slapping him. He jerked to the side, struck his temple against a seashell and lost consciousness again.

Several minutes later, a passing tourist was treated to the sight of a tall, blonde American in a lab coat shoving an elderly man's face into the armpit of an unconscious young woman who was wearing nothing but a hospital smock, all while screaming, "Smell her, goddammit! Smell her and wake up!"

They were in Cancun, which meant the tourist continued on his way and forgot the entire incident by breakfast.

**--**

There were plenty of fallen chairs to go around and Cuddy grabbed another one as soon as House, Owen, and Foreman were out the door. 

"Stop being a wimp," she snapped to Wilson, who was trying to hide behind her.

"I'm a doctor!" he said indignantly. "Not a soldier!"

"You battle cancer, don't you?" 

"It's totally not the same!"

One of the aliens said something that sounded extremely foreign into a futuristic-looking walkie-talkie. 

"What did he say?" Cameron asked Jack.

"How should I know? I don't speak ugly-ese!"

"I told my colleagues outside," the largest alien spoke up somewhat indistinctly, "to go after your friends." He grinned toothily--or at least, it looked like a grin to them. 

"Well thanks for letting us know that," said Jack sarcastically and then shot the alien in what he thought was probably the head. 

His shot took out four of the alien's massive teeth and buried itself in the back of its mouth, but the creature just grinned awfully at them and seemed not even a little harmed. 

"Oh," said Wilson. 

"Guess we're going to have to get creative," said Jack. "No one's got any serious explosives on them, do they?" No one answered him. Two of the aliens started closing in with a speed and grace that belied their considerable bulk. The smallest of the three, also the one that was the lightest shade of red, stayed behind and started tinkering with something ominous-looking.

Jack, Wilson, Cuddy, and Cameron all backed up as the other two approached. "Get ready!" Jack shouted just before he fired the rest of the round into the largest alien. All four shots hit point blank but the monster barely slowed. Cuddy chucked a chair at it and that gave it a bit more trouble; it tried to bat the chair away with a tentacle, but instead the chair sort of stuck to it.

"Good idea," said Jack sarcastically. "Give it a battering ram!"

"Got a better one, Captain Trigger?" Cuddy retorted. Cameron whacked at flying tentacles with her keyboard until one stuck to it like velcro and almost took her arm with it.

"Are they magnetic or something?" she asked, casting about for a new weapon and frantically ducking tentacles. 

"Keyboards aren't made of metal!"

Jack tapped Cuddy on the shoulder. "I don't know who's in charge of inventory here, but they look metallic to me."

Wilson was pelting the aliens with small objects from behind the counter. The aliens were accumulating a collection of spoons, needles, scalpels, watches, pens, and other items upon their skin, while things like pencils and wads of paper fell to the floor.

"They weren't magnetic before!" Jack said, confused. "I'd have noticed. _That isn't helping, Dr. Wilson!_"

"Well, what do you want me to do? If bullets couldn't stop it, I sure can't!" 

"Anything but that! They just look like really bad collages now!"

Indeed, the two aliens, who seemed to prefer staying at a distance and letting their long-reaching tentacles do the fighting, were slowly getting covered in random crap and were looking sillier and sillier.

"Maybe they're only magnetic under certain circumstances," Cuddy suggested in between swipes with a new chair.

"Maybe it has something to do with what that one's doing," said Cameron, pointing at the third alien, who looked like it was constructing something dubious. 

"Oh no!" said Jack.

"What is it?"

A tentacle nearly took off Cameron's head, and another bruised Wilson's arm when he tried to hit it away. 

"It's an earthquake machine!"

"Oh, come off it," said Cuddy. 

"This is getting nowhere," said Wilson, staring at the two creatures, who were making weird growling noises that probably constituted some strange alien battle cry.

"Run!" said Cameron, who suddenly ducked behind Cuddy and ran towards the elevator. The others followed, some with difficulty, but this hallway wasn't for storage rooms and so it was thin, and the aliens were not, and though they tried they couldn't follow.

"Where are you going?" asked Cuddy.

"Regrouping!" said Cameron. "We need to find better weapons!"

Behind them the aliens gave up trying to reach them and went in another direction.

"That worries me. I wonder where they're going," said Wilson.

"No, really," said Jack, sounding wounded. "It is an earthquake machine."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"It causes small, localized earthquakes by tapping into the rock below the surface dirt and vibrating it at a high frequency! They're not _real_ earthquakes in the sense that they don't have anything to do with tectonic plates, but they act in the same way!"

"Fine. Supposing I believe you, just how dangerous is it?"

"Well, I didn't get a good look at it, but I'd say it'll probably do a circle with a diameter of just under a mile and with the hospital at the focal point, well, equate it to a five or six on the Richter Scale."

"So bad enough to knock down a building?"

"Yeah, especially since they don't take that long to charge between quakes."

Cameron ducked into a room and came out with two brooms and a mop. She tossed the mop to Wilson and a broom to Cuddy. "Better than nothing." She shrugged.

"What about me?" said Jack. 

"Oh, right. Here." She tossed him a dustpan.

"And what, exactly, am I supposed to do with this?" said Jack dryly, eyeing the plastic dustpan.

"Make it up as you go! We have to destroy that stupid machine before it brings down the whole hospital!" said Cuddy. "There are still lots of civilians in here!"

"Why wasn't everyone evacuated?" Jack asked her reproachfully as she took off down another hallway.

"You were there! How were we supposed to evacuate people when the _National Guard_ had the place under _quarantine_?" Cuddy snapped at him.

"Oh. Right."

"Where are we going?" said Cameron.

"If you go this way, it loops around back to the lobby," answered Wilson as they took a right. "How long will it take them to set that machine up?" he added. They were all forced to leap over several piles of broken glass where some of the numerous windows had shattered, but it didn't take them long to get back to the lobby, which was even more chaotically messy than before. The two aliens not working on the machine had lost interest in the escaped group and were systematically breaking all the glass that wasn't already broken.

"Why are they doing that? Get them away from my hospital!" Cuddy cried. Then she charged at the nearest one and whacked it repeatedly with her broom. The thing didn't pay her any attention except to sweep her several feet away with a stray tentacle, as though she were nothing more than a fly. 

Wilson dodged one tentacle and shielded himself from one with his mop, but the third one caught him right in the stomach and knocked him over. 

"_Stop_!" Jack hadn't bothered with the two knocking down walls and had instead rushed at the one with the machine. He didn't get very far; there was some sort of invisible force field surrounding the device and the mechanic alien. The force of it, however, knocked the dustpan from his hands and sent it flying across the floor where is struck the bottom of the machine. "Must be hardwired so only living creatures can't get through," Jack said, poking at the force field. 

A spark flew from the machine. The alien didn't notice, but Jack did, and he ran straight back over to the others. "The casing's cracked," he whispered to Wilson, who was still picking himself up off the floor. "Go find water! That thing may be extremely advanced, but it still runs on your average electricity!"

Wilson nodded and fled back the way they'd come.

It didn't matter. A second later, the mechanic alien flicked a switch and, slowly at first, the whole building started to shake.

**--**

As was customary after crashes, a wheel fell off the wheelchair and rolled past Chase's head. It navigated its way into a stairwell and bounced all the way down, smashing some glass at the bottom. Surprisingly, there was no yowling cat.

Chase sat up, rubbing his head and feeling like he'd been run over by a stampede of gazelles--specifically gazelles, because they could not only trample but jump up and down a lot too. Bright lights and screams came from the far end of the hallway, and Chase decided he should be thankful Cuddy had pushed him away like a murderer shoving a car with the body in it into a lake.

He was looking for an alternative form of transportation when an elderly lady drove past in a mechanized wheelchair. He caught her eye, and she drove up to him, parking on his foot. He winced but it was not his injured foot, though if she remained on it much longer, it might join the ranks of body parts that hated him right now.

"Are you my daughter?" the woman asked.

"What?" Chase said. Then he remembered he was still in Cameron's body. He wondered when he'd stopped noticing. "No, I'm afraid not. I work here."

"I'm sorry, you're going to have to speak louder!"

Chase bent over so that he was level with her and yelled, "I am not your daughter!"

She stared at him, and he wondered if she still hadn't heard, but then she grabbed him by the ear. "Stop with that stupid, fake Australian accent, Ingrid. You're not fooling anyone. Trying to disown your mother, how disgraceful! You come with me right this instant!"

She drove off with Chase in tow, her grip on his ear lobe strong as a vise.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!" he screamed, hopping as fast as he could to keep up, but she didn't pay him any attention.

They rounded the corner and Chase was confronted with the sight of forty senior citizens in wheel chairs all lined up in five neat lines. They were each brandishing a cane like a battle axe.

"I have found Ingrid!" the woman exclaimed, releasing Chase. He turned and tried to run, but she hooked his leg with her cane and sent him sprawling. "Ingrid shall lead us into battle against the terrors that have consumed this forsaken hospital."

"Why me?" Chase whimpered.

"Because you are young and virile! My Ingrid is like a valkyrie warrior woman."

"Technically, valkyries collect the dead from battlefields."

His supposed mother ignored him. Turning back to her rapt--or maybe sleeping, it was hard to tell the difference--audience, she let out an ululating battle cry, choked in the middle, paused to catch her breath, had to use her asthma medication, remembered it was time for her calcium supplement, took her calcium supplement, had to clean her false teeth after taking the calcium supplement, felt cold and made Chase fetch her a blanket, forgot she'd taken her calcium supplement, felt an overriding urge to go to the bathroom and did that instead.

Chase attempted to use her absence to sneak off, but the others raised such an uproar that Ingrid charged out, beat him over the head with her cane and left again. He was beginning to despair when the entire hospital started shaking. The floor tilted, sending the entire battalion sliding down the hall. Chase took the opportunity to stagger away as fast as he could.

**--**

An armada of flying saucers were descending upon Drumthwacket, numbering in the hundreds. They were all pink. House counted five that had kitten designs on them and seven that had frolicking puppies chasing butterflies. He thought there was one with a group of kittens beating up a puppy, but it disappeared before he could verify the sighting.

They were all design coordinated with the teacups they were carrying.

"The British are coming!" House exclaimed.

"I happen to drink coffee," Owen snapped.

"I thought you were Welsh."

"Wales is part of Great Britain!"

"Cut the geography lesson!" Foreman yelled. "We have bigger problems."

"Is it me," said Owen, "or have those cups started steaming?"

"Shit," House and Foreman said at the same time. They glared at each other, but House shook his head and said, "There's no time for this. Get back on the bike." For once, there were no complaints as the two piled in, shoving and kicking for space. House climbed onto the motorcycle and gunned the engine.

"Are those attack dogs?" Foreman said, pointing at brown shapes darting around the corners of the mansion.

Owen groaned. "This just gets better and better."

"Hang on!" House yelled, and they streaked across the lawn, leaving a trail of upturned grass in their wake. The teacups swerved to cut them off, forcing House to veer into a ninety degree turn as the first one to intersect their path upturned, pouring down a cascade of boiling tea. The murky liquid splashed in all directions, but the dogs just leapt through the spray, their fur protecting them from the heat and occasional errant droplet.

Several teacups increased speed, soaring overhead before spilling over. Columns of tea slammed down from the sky, forcing House to swerve and dodge. House tried to imagine they were just trees in a forest, but trees didn't tend to curve in your direction and try to scald you.

"Are these more hallucinations or will bullets be able to harm them?" House asked Owen.

"I can try, but they're too high up right now!"

As if on cue, the teacups that had emptied their contents descended from the sky. The saucers started spinning, and a foot-long blades extended all along their perimeters.

"We're going to get killed by a Disney ride!" Foreman moaned as the teacups fell into a revolving formation around the motorcycle and sidecar. One dropped back, giving House a moment of relief before he saw the saucer allow one of the dogs to leap onto it. The ship swooped back, and the dog soared through the air onto Foreman.

The canine's added weight caused the sidecar to sink deeper into the grass, slowing them down long enough for the saucer behind to draw terrifyingly close. Owen screamed and opened fire, using clip after clip of ammo, but the bullets bounced off.

"Forget the teacup! Shoot the dog!" Foreman screamed, pushing back the hound as its claws scrabbled against the back of the sidecar and its teeth drew closer and closer to his face. "And help me push, damn you! I can't hold it back with one arm!" Owen swung his aim at the dog, but the car was too cramped and Foreman found himself staring into the barrel. "Not me! The dog! Not me!"

The hound snapped at Owen. In his haste to jerk his arm away, he lost his grip on the gun and it landed in the grass. 

House pressed harder on the acceleration, and a spray of dirt covered the teacup behind them. The sudden increase in speed sent the dog flying, and it soared over the teacup to land in front of the pursuing pack, causing the other hounds to trip and fall into a heap.

The dirtied saucer wobbled, emitting panicky squeaking sounds. House cheered: "I think the dirt covered its vision!" The saucer dipped too much, and the front caught the ground. Soil burst in every direction as the ship flipped. The teacup fell off, bouncing across the grass and slamming into another saucer, causing it to explode. Fighting against instinct, House turned in the direction of the ball of flame, knowing that he'd be sliced to pieces if he went any other direction.

The tumbling saucer fired off its engines in an attempt to remain in pursuit. That unexpected action, combined with the turn, gave it enough speed to catch up with them just as it flipped onto its side, becoming a spinning saw blade that cut straight between him and the screaming duo. It severed the sidecar's connection, causing it to careen off on its own.

The confusion allowed them to slip between the blades and continue in a path that led straight to the front entrance of the mansion. _Lucky bastards,_ thought House as he watched the attack dogs regroup and chase after them instead.

The teacups started closing their circle, and House could hear the blades whirring. _Shit,_ he thought, and realizing he had no option, he swerved once more, leaning so hard the bike fell on its side. His momentum carried him through the dirt straight under one of the incoming saucers. Small strands of his own hair drifted past like snow as one of the blades came a little too close for comfort.

As soon as he was past, he kicked with his good leg, glad he'd taken the effort to exercise it in the past few weeks, and righted the bike. The saucers reversed course and darted for him even as he raced for the mansion. He saw Foreman and Owen each trying to steer the sidecar by leaning to the side, except they were leaning in opposite directions. The car smashed into the stairs of the front porch and made it up two steps before flipping over and crashing through the front door. Owen and Foreman went in next, followed by the dogs.

The saucers zoomed forward, attempting to regroup. A teacup above deposited its contents and melted the one closest to House, but then his luck ran out. Instead of attempting to close a circle on him, they began darting, one after another, each making a separate attempt to slice off parts of his body. House weaved and two crashed into each other. He immediately smashed the brakes, causing a third to overshoot and slam into one of the teacups awaiting its turn to attack. They exploded, and the gout of flame caught one of the recently emptied saucers descending to replace its destroyed peers.

House knew the aliens would get their act together soon, but just as each pass was growing too close for comfort, the saucers lifted off as one and retreated. The sounds of splashing died away, replaced by the hissing and bubbling of tea boiling grass. The smell was disgusting.

House slowed down and realized he had reached the mansion. They must not want to damage it. Looking up, he put his thumbs in his ears and blew a raspberry at the circling teacups, waggling his remaining fingers. One of the saucers descended again, and he directed his scorn at it until he realized it was flipping on its side behind one of the downed ships.

"Uh oh." He threw himself to the side and the saucer began spinning like mad, fanning the flames until a funnel shot straight at House. It missed him by inches, and he expected the saucer to perfect its aim at any time, but the inferno died away without moving. Getting up, he realized it had been a parting shot; they wouldn't risk setting the house on fire.

He smelled burning plastic and looked down to see the sticker on his cane smoldering. "Yes!" he exclaimed. He was rid of that damned "World's Greatest Grandma" logo. Then he looked closer and saw that it now read "World's Grandma" instead. "That," he growled, "does not help."

**--**

Tosh slammed into Monty at the same time Ianto grabbed his wrist, twisting it and forcing the gun from his hand. Monty made no sound except a soft "oomph" as he hit the ground. He swung at Tosh and threw her off him, sending her three meters down the hall. Then he turned to Ianto and used his free hand to start choking him. His strength was astonishing, and Ianto knew he had seconds before his windpipe collapsed.

"Monty, stop it!" Tosh screamed. She brought a piece of sheet metal down on his head, and he whirled around, grabbing her instead. He threw her against a wall and pressed down on her throat. Ianto ran over and tried to pull him off, but it was like attempting to move a stone statue. "No," Tosh gasped, tears streaming down her face. "This isn't you. I believe you, Monty."

Ianto hoped she was right. At the last minute, Monty's aim had gone awry, turning what was certain death from a shot to the heart into a graze along Tosh's shoulder. That, and the superhuman strength he was displaying now, was more than proof enough that Monty was not himself. The question was whether he could regain control in time.

Monty pulled away, and Tosh dropped to the ground from where she'd been pinned. "Monty?" she asked, staring into his eyes. He blinked, face seeming to regain expression, but then he began to glow.

"Tosh," he gasped. "I'm sorry." He fell apart before their eyes, transforming into tiny pinpoints of light which rushed away up the lift shaft. Tosh ran after them, but Ianto grabbed her arm.

"He teleported," he said. "The aliens teleported him out. But he's still alive."

"We have to find him!" She stamped her foot in frustration. "I didn't trust him, Ianto. I should've, but I didn't."

Ianto pulled her close and patted her back. "It's all right. It'll work out."

Tosh nodded, stepping back. She stood straighter and brushed her hair from her face. Even with tear stains still fresh on her cheeks, she was the picture of determination, and she strode to the hole in the ground and began climbing down. Ianto picked up Monty's gun and scurried after her.

The next floor down was a twisting maze lined with wires and pipes that Ianto would have assumed were service tunnels for the mansion if they weren't so huge and so far below ground. The ceiling loomed overhead, twice as far up as the height of any human, and the width was enough to accommodate two trucks. He assumed it was meant for the aliens, which were bulkier than most people, and the size of the passage meant it held special importance.

"I see a light up ahead," Tosh whispered.

Ianto consulted the wristband. "Heavy concentration of alien tech but no signs of life."

"I didn't see anything when they caught me either. Can you be sure it's not a hallucination?"

Ianto put the wristband in his mouth and looked around. "No, it's all real," he said, taking it out again and wiping it clean on his pant leg. It annoyed him to use his suit in such a way, but Jack's clothing held higher priority.

Tosh gave him an odd look, so he felt compelled to explain why he was using a piece of 51st century technology as a pacifier. When he finished, Tosh had a gleam in her eye that he saw whenever she had a new piece of tech to play with, but she didn't say anything else.

The source of the lighting was a dead end room, but blinking consoles lined the walls and dishes that looked like satellites hung from the domed ceiling. Wires and electrical cables flowed out of the computers to lead into a single circular pad about two meters in radius at the center of the room. Tosh cleared her throat and held a hand out. Ianto handed the wristband over.

"All right, these appear to be the standard controls, but over here we have long-range neutrino controls and a quantum interferometer," she muttered. "So if I press this and _this_ and enter these equations... aha!"

"Yes?"

"It's a stasis transmat. We've seen the aliens use ordinary teleports, but this is required if you're breaking apart and reconstituting hazardous or unstable materials. It freezes time on items in transit, bypassing common side effects of teleportation that could trigger a reaction."

"Does it transport life forms as well?"

"Yes." Tosh went over to one of the panels and interfaced the console with the wristband. "The log shows that two aliens accompany each shipment of whatever they use this for. The environment on the other side is safe for humans."

"Can we use it to teleport back into the mansion?"

Tosh sighed. "No. It appears to be a fixed-end transmit. It would take me days to recalibrate it for generic egress, and even then, I might just break it."

"Where does it lead?"

"It won't say." She hesitated. "I guess we'll have to step through and find out."

Ianto checked the chamber of Monty's gun. Two bullets left. Well, it was better than nothing. "I'll go through first," he said.

Tosh shook her head. "Access requires identity verification. I can use the wristband to hack the system, but that means anywhere we go, we have to go together."

"All right. Together then."

Tosh's fingers flew across the keyboard. "Got it. Five seconds until activation." She disconnected the wristband, and they dashed onto the pad. "Three, two, one..."

The room blinked out of existence, then came back, looking exactly the same. Then Tosh pointed at the entrance and saw a door there where the corridor had been. She positioned herself by the knob, gave him a count down on her fingers, then threw it open. He charged through, gun drawn, and was struck by a blast of heat, as though he'd run into a furnace.

"Dear god," he said. Tosh came through the door and gasped. They stood at the start of a long catwalk that twisted and turned through a facility that stretched on and on, farther than the eye could see. Vats of molten metal glowed beneath them while troughs carried olive green sludge through various pieces of machinery, each powered my thousands of parts spinning and swinging and slamming together. Further down, rows of conveyer belts carried gleaming silver objects along what appeared to be assembly lines, and spider droids darted along the floor and up columns, overseeing the entire operation.

"It's like an industrial waste plant," he whispered.

"And much more," Tosh added. "They're manufacturing something using the trash of human society."

"BRAIN," Ianto said. "Yvonne once had some scientists draw up theoretical schematics for a device that might utilize BRAIN. Some of them looked a lot like what's coming off that assembly line there, and it tallies with everything we know so far. We need to call Jack at once. Do you still have your phone?"

Tosh nodded. "I still have everything with me. I think they were confident I wouldn't wake up." She paused. "Wait, the alien device is missing!"

Ianto shrugged. "I'm not sure it matters at this point. I'd guess they have lots more. Let's report back. Where do you think we are?"

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

"Just tell me?"

Tosh handed the wristband over. On the screen was a map, and right in the middle was a flashing red dot labeled: "Washington DC Botanical Gardens."

**--**

The quaking caused Jack to overbalance and fall on his rear.

This turned out to be a good thing, because less than a second later an entire computer flew right over his head and fixed itself not so gently to the bulbous alien behind him. It roared. Jack's gun flew out of his pocket and copied the computer, and so did every other metal object within fifteen feet. 

Cuddy shrieked in surprise when her wristwatch did the same and effectively stuck her to one of the aliens. She struggled to undo it amidst the chaos. The wall the aliens had been hacking at abruptly collapsed and neatly buried the alien behind Jack. Cuddy's was trying to rid itself of all the objects stuck to it; it was obvious that the aliens hadn't bargained for this themselves. 

At the other end of the room the mechanic alien was having similar problems. It was holding down a small lever which was causing the earthquake to continue but it was having a hard time keeping it pulled because of all the junk flying at it and the general shakiness of the area.

It was only a couple more seconds before its tentacle slipped and the lever righted itself, and the room abruptly stopped shaking. 

Jack carefully got to his feet. Behind him, the aliens' sudden magnetism dropped from extremely high to merely abnormally high, and most of the larger junk started falling off. 

Cuddy finally managed to detach herself and threw herself backwards just in time to avoid getting hit by the flying pieces of debris caused when the buried alien exploded upwards, freeing itself. 

"Cameron!" Jack called. "Where are you?"

"Here!" Cameron had hidden under a desk that had ended up toppling over onto her, but it wasn't too heavy and she was uninjured. 

"I got it!" said Wilson, panting as he ran back down the corridor with a bucket only half-filled with water. "There was an earthquake! I only barely managed to avoid spilling all of it!" 

"No good! We need more," said Jack. "Go get another bucket, get as much as you can! Cameron, go with him. Dr. Cuddy and I will hold them off." Jack dumped the water on the floor near the aliens.

"What are you planning?" Cuddy asked him.

"No time to explain," Jack said. "I just hope they don't have any of the properties of rubber..."

The mechanic alien had recovered and, at that moment, pulled the lever again.

"Make him stop!" Cuddy shouted. "He's ruining my hospital!" 

"I'm a little disturbed that I have to tell you this, but I think your hospital is already pretty ruined," said Jack. He fell down again. "Oh no! My pants are all wet!"

Cuddy grabbed a large glass paperweight and started crawling across the floor, trying to avoid the once-again flying metal objects while doing so. When she got close enough, she chucked the paper weight at the alien's tentacle and hit soundly. The alien made a screeching noise and let go of the lever. Everything stopped shaking again, but another wall looked near collapse and the floor was covered in broken glass. 

Cuddy started chucking pens and large pieces of glass and whatever she could reach at the alien with the machine, hoping to hold it off. Jack stood again, ran over to her, and dragged her up. 

"Come on! You have to get out of here!" 

"Why?"

"Just trust me! There!" He guided her down the storage hallway, then sprinted back into the lobby just as Wilson and Cameron were arriving again, carrying three buckets of water.

"Great! Give those to me and follow Dr. Cuddy!" He wasted no time in waiting to make sure they'd obey, but splashed the water onto the floor. 

"What--!" Wilson started, but Cameron grabbed him.

"Move!" she roared and dragged him out of the lobby. Jack threw the second bucket down, then took a deep breath and hurled the last one through the force field where it poured its contents all over the earthquake machine.

There was a loud PZZZZZAAAAPPPPPP noise, then quiet. Cameron took a stop towards the lobby, but Cuddy stopped her.

"You don't want to do that," she said. 

"What about Jack?" 

"Just wait."

Four minutes later Jack stumbled down the hallway, looking a little bit singed. 

"Electricity has got to be one of my least favorite ways to go," he said, grinning at them.

"What?" said Cameron.

"Well," began Cuddy.

"No time!" interrupted Jack. "We've got to catch up with House!"

**--**

Tracy collapsed onto the beach, exhausted from her efforts. Bilis remained face-down in the sand next to Gwen, and he was making odd moaning sounds which made Tracy think it was best to drag him away from her patient. Once she had completed this, she sat down again and kicked sand at Bilis.

"You know Gwen's condition is still critical, right?" she said, wishing she had a stress ball with her right now. "We need to get her back to the hospital as soon as possible."

Bilis popped up like a Jack-in-a-Box. "Ms. Cooper is in danger! We must be away!"

Tracy had enough time to roll her eyes before he grabbed her, the gurney and Gwen and teleported.

They found themselves on the Eiffel Tower. "Oh," Bilis said, glancing at Gwen in her hospital gown. "I'm afraid I forgot the situation. You see, I was dreaming we were here in Paris. Together. Naked."

"Get us back to Princeton!" Tracy shrieked.

They materialized in front of the hospital just in time for a man in a greatcoat to crash into Gwen's gurney and tumble over it, falling in a heap at Tracy's feet. Captain Jack Harkness groaned.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" Cuddy asked as she caught up, followed by Wilson and Cameron.

One story up, Chase appeared in the only clinic room that had a floor-to-ceiling view of the landscape. "Where'd the wall go?" he screamed, his voice echoing against the ruins of the parking garage.

Bilis teleported up. "Don't be silly, my dear. Why would a wall go anywhere?" They vanished and reappeared beside the group.

"You were supposed to keep Gwen safe," Jack said, dusting himself off.

"Aliens came for her. Given the situation, she's in as good a condition as anyone can hope."

"Uh," said Cameron. "She's also awake."


	17. Interlude IV: Modus Operandi

**Interlude IV**

**Modus Operandi**

Death's robes itched. Susan supposed that, as a skeleton, didn't bother him too much, but she was certainly not an anthropomorphic personification of something more concerned with appearance than comfort, and she made a mental note to tell her grandfather to get some better ones. After all, she never knew when she would need to use them again.

On the other hand, there were other problems with the outfit as well, apart from the fact that they were simply silly-looking and unpractical. After all, if you were going to run around with a giant scythe, big baggy robes would only hinder your arm movement and catch on the ground. Death might not have to worry about chasing someone down--everyone came to him eventually--but there were times when she had been Death that she definitely needed to run. In any case, the robes were far too big for her, and the sleeves extended a foot past her hands. The hood fell over her face, though that worked out fine; it was a hassle when people didn't recognize her as Death. Even when she explained it and they took her word, the old men always asked for a last kiss, which was stupid. Susan had no desire to be known for having a kiss of death.

The hourglass room was just as noisy as it normally was, but she heard the Death of Rats' protest comment loud and clear.

SQUEAK, it said, the words resonating in her mind.

Well, two could play at that game. Death had gone on vacation, and she was two days into the week she'd promised to cover. The old habits were well-rehearsed at this point, so she glared at the skeletal rodent and replied in Death's voice of command: SIT.

The bony skull rattled as the rat plonked down on the shelf.

SQUEAK!

"One more word out of you and I'll have you doing tricks like a dog."

SQUEAK?

ROLL OVER!

It was after she uttered the words that she realized her mistake. The Death of Rats fell on its side and tumbled to its right straight into an hourglass. She whipped her hand forward to catch it before the entire shelf turned into a giant game of dominos. The sand inside rocked back and forth as she caught the upper end, stopping its momentum a finger's breadth from disaster.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Sensible as she normally was, she should never have given into temptation, but this night's errand had her on tenterhooks.

SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEE-SQUEEEAK!

"Poo," she cursed. The tinkling sound of glass upon glass grew louder as she looked down and saw that her sleeve had swept across the row below, triggering a chain reaction to the right. Seven hourglasses had already fallen over, and she dashed after the eighth only to find herself stepping on the hem of the robe and falling over. Her hand went wide and missed her target, and she went rolling down the aisle. "Get to the end of the row before I make an owl pellet out of you!" she yelled at the Death of Rats.

SQUEAK, it told her reproachfully, and she saw it was already scampering after the cascade. Luckily, Death had possessed the presence of mind to make most of the bases in the form of squares, or at least something angular, and the glasses that had been knocked over simply lay where they fell rather than roll off the shelf and shatter. There'd have been a lot of explaining to do if ten thousand Discworld residents all dropped dead within five seconds of each other. Well, she supposed she could claim one of the elephants had passed gas, but that would set a bad moral example.

When she arrived at the end of the shelf, one hourglass was missing. She found it on the ground, but luckily, it remained intact. A ragged piece of black cloth fluttered from underneath it, and when she picked the hourglass up, she found the Death of Rats sprawled underneath.

"Well, you did a great job, didn't you?" she told it.

SQUEAK.

She rolled her eyes. "You did _not_ cushion the fall. You're made of bones! If anything, you probably made it worse.…" Her voice trailed off as she noticed the name inscribed on the base. Well, the universe worked in strange ways, but maybe this fiasco wasn't as bad as she'd thought. "Just who I was looking for," she said. Focusing on the hourglass, she received an image of the person's whereabouts, and then she dashed out of the hall.

For something without eyeballs, the Death of Rats did a pretty good job at rolling its eyes.

--

Ronald T. Daniels did not consider himself a particularly old person, and he prided himself on being, if not physically fit, at least not obese. Of late, his housekeeper had taken to sneaking small quantities of wheat grass juice into his morning milk. The fact that the housekeeper was color-blind did not aid the attempt at subterfuge. Nevertheless, Daniels took the hint and wrote "exercise" in big, red letters in his daily planner on a page some thirty weeks in the future. He was a busy man.

Today, however, things had not gone as planned. It was a holiday, of course, which in Ankh-Morpork simply meant more people got mugged than usual. This was not because the Thieves' Guild upped their quota on holidays; on the contrary, thieves deserved breaks too. However, the lack of Guild activity resulted in a distinct lack of enforcement as well, which meant free-lancers could have their way without fear of nasty things happening to them shortly thereafter, 'shortly thereafter' being defined as within twenty-four hours, as opposed to more than twenty-four hours, which was when the holiday ended and everyone worked overtime to break fingers.

Normally, this did not bother Mr. Daniels. Art, he liked to declare, waits for no one, except dwarves (it used to be "Art waits for no man, or woman, or child, or zombie, vampire, banshee and other wee beasties, etc. etc." but the list grew too long). It also tends to wait for the Patrician, but Daniels preferred to leave Vetinari out of the equation altogether. However, his secretary had gotten drunk and broken his foot the previous night, and then the theatre caught on fire when one of Mrs. Vimes' dragons escaped. As a result, there was nothing left to do except enjoy his well-deserved holiday. He wasn't too upset--the theatre did not suffer major damage and rehearsals would continue tomorrow--except for the fact that no dwarves had been involved in the work stoppage whatsoever. That just made him look bad.

The day had gone well. He'd rescued several kittens, danced on the roof and lied through his teeth to the Ankh-Morpork Times reporter about his upcoming production. All in all, a splendid vacation. Now, he was tucked into bed with a nice warm cup of milk (pure white, entirely lacking in any shades of green) and thinking things were looking so up they were probably looking down.

Which was why he was upset but not entirely surprised (just extremely shocked, considering he was neither particularly old nor obese) when Death came visiting.

He/it walked through the wall beside the window. Daniels considered this showing off because the window was open. On the other hand, he was duly impressed because his room was five stories above the ground with no significant ledges nearby and a storm drain that had been covered with Assassins' Guild certified grease (the price on his head had gone up a significant amount after his previous production, "Last of the Temporal Nobles," premiered).

Death drew closer, the handle of the scythe dragging across the wooden floor, generating an ominous rumbling that grew louder and louder with his/its approach. Daniels decided that if he was going to voice his protest about this development, it was now or never. "Excuse me, um, O Destroyer of Life. Are you sure you don't have the wrong person?"

ARE YOU MISTER RONALD TUTANKHAMEN DANIELS? Death asked with a tilt of his/its head that was visible only by the rippling of his/its hood.

"I'm sure there are lots of people named that in Ankh-Morpork alone."

YOUR MIDDLE NAME IS QUITE SINGULAR UPON THE ENTIRE DISC.

Daniels made a mental note to fire his psychiatrist; this was _completely_ his mother's fault.

ARE YOU VERY SCARED MISTER DANIELS?

"Just a tad bit."

YOU ARE A TAD BIT VERY SCARED? THAT IS A LOGICAL FALLACY.

"Sorry, but I don't want a debate about semantics to be the last thing I ever do."

YOU ARE NOT ABOUT TO DIE. PER SE.

"Just stopped in for a chat, then?" Daniels was beginning to wonder if his housekeeper hadn't slipped something else into his milk.

Death lowered his/its hood and Daniels discovered that Death had, in fact, lowered _her_ hood. Her hair and voice dissuaded any thoughts that this might be a practical joke.

MY NAME IS, OH BLAST... She cleared her throat, then continued in a human voice. "My name is Susan. I'm Death's granddaughter, but I'm filling in for him right now."

"Is he on vacation?" Daniels laughed shrilly.

"Actually," Susan replied with complete sincerity, "he is. Luckily for you, I might add, because it is _not_ your time to die and as Death, rather than as Susan, I cannot kill you before your time."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"I'm an avid follower of your series."

"Oh. You're one of _those_ people." He would have to ask the Assassins' Guild if they had supernatural wards. "I don't see the point of getting up in arms about 'Last of the Temporal Nobles.'"

"That," Susan said with distaste, "was immensely disturbing, but forgivable. I am here to inquire about your other production series, _Firetree_."

"Let me guess, you didn't like the goat monster."

"Actually, I thought it was rather brilliant how its shadow ate everybody's clothes. Incredible special effects work for the stage, even if you did cheat a little with magic at the end."

"Thank you. Then what's the problem?"

"There have been rumors going around the city."

"Of what, pray tell?" Daniels was fairly certain he knew what.

"I am very fond of Posh and Oven."

"Wonderful!"

"So imagine my consternation when I heard they were going to be killed off."

"That's rubbish. Completely false information. They're going to get married and have seven kids, one of which will be a flesh-eating alien parasite, and then they'll live happily ever--"

DO NOT LIE TO ME, RONALD!

Daniels flailed, causing his cup to slip from his hand and fly across the invisible blade of Susan's scythe, whereupon it parted in half as smoothly as sliced ham (which was to say it jerked a little but gave way in the end). The milk splattered across the wall but miraculously managed to miss Susan.

"Are they going to die or not?"

"Even if they were, the decision's been made. Opening night is in a week. There is no time to make changes."

"You're ruining the team dynamic just after everyone's started working together properly!"

"Their story arcs have reached a natural conclusion."

"What are you talking about! Posh has done nothing but mope after Oven and gain a reputation as being the Black Widow of Vehicular-Upper-Case-Delta!"

"That _is_ her character arc."

"What about her father? And her time with the Uberwaldian Intelligence Task Force? Not to mention the fact that she's a complete genius and you've underutilized her talents in favor of Glen, which is _totally not a female name_."

"Don't you think you're getting yourself a bit worked up over a fictional production?"

One moment, Susan was standing halfway across the room, and the next moment, she was leaning over him and a clump of his nightshirt was in her clenched fist. She shook him as she growled, "Do not kill Posh or Oven, or you will be receiving frequent visits from me for the rest of your life. Understand?"

Daniels made some choking sound which Susan appeared to take as assent, because a second later, she was gone.

A cool night breeze swept through the window, making the curtains dance. He shut the window. When he turned around, his cup of milk had reconstituted on the nightstand and was just the right temperature. He shrugged and drank it and went to sleep, dismissing the entire incident from his mind.

The next morning, he woke up early, ran to the theatre and announced there was a slight change of plans for the ending of the next production of _Firetree_.

--

Susan shrugged the robes off as though they were on fire and flung them into a corner. Now that she had accomplished her mission, she felt somewhat guilty. Intimidating a man over a stage production was not a sensible thing to do. "Maybe you were right," she said.

The smug "SQUEAK" she expected from the Death of Rats did not come. Frowning, she looked around and realized that, instead of the purplish-black walls of Death's house, she was simply surrounded with pitch black. A lone sign floating in thin air stood in front her, illuminated by an invisible spotlight.

YOU HAVE BEEN DIVERTED, it read.

"And here I was thinking I'd taken a wrong turn by the elephant's tail," Susan muttered. The information did help, though. There were only so many things that could divert Death. She suspected she knew which one it was, and indeed, three gray shapes were materializing before her.

"Auditors," she said. Auditors of _reality_, infinite in number and almost as patient, they watched the universe spin and made sure every atom behaved as it should. Only sometimes they got antsy, because the universe itself had been such a cold and physical thing, behaving like clockwork, until something messy came about. Something unquantifiable. Life, and consciousness, and with it, all the emotions and imagination of countless beings, every one of them behaving in unexpected ways. Every once in a while, the Auditors decided the universe would be simpler without life and engaged in some complicated plan to remove it without breaking any laws. It usually did not work. Usually, Death intervened, dragging Susan kicking and screaming along for the ride. Today, Death was not here, and Susan had no one to drag kicking and screaming behind her. That was a little problematic.

The empty cloaks floated closer.

One said, Do not be alarmed. We are not here to harm you.

"I'm not sure you could harm me if you wanted to."

One said, We are also not here to harm your interests.

"You're just here for a chat, then. On vacation?" The irony of the situation was not lost on Susan. She supposed it was karma, which every once in a while managed to impose its will on even people who refused to acknowledge its existence, not unlike door-to-door religious proselytizers.

One might say we are here to engage your services.

"You couldn't pay me enough."

We are counting on your sense of justice. And the desire for survival.

Susan paused. Was that a hint of fear in the Auditors' voices? True, the things weren't supposed to feel anything, but they all acted oddly ever since that battle over the clock in which some had taken physical form and found it more than they bargained for.

"What's wrong?"

One said, A darkness is coming, sweeping across the universe. Soon it shall reach the Discworld, which for all its quirks and psychological defenses will not survive the onslaught.

"Darkness? What darkness?"

The darkness of the mind. The madness of life which is incomprehensible and terrible. It is coming. We cannot interfere, but we may contact agents who can. You must go forth and fight.

"Why do you want to preserve the disc? We've given you no end of trouble."

Because what is coming is worse. Life is short and finite and will one day end. Then we can continue our jobs in peace. But if this comes, life will be swept away to be replaced by something worse. The entire universe, every rock and atom and quark, will be supplanted by complete illogic. All natural laws will cease. Even we will cease, for there will be no place for us. But life shall be extinguished long before we are gone, so hurry. Hurry fast.

The auditors faded, and Susan found herself standing in the antechamber. Death's robes still lay in a pile in the corner. Cursing, she threw the scythe into its place and yelled, "Grandfather!"

The cry was pure frustration, and she expected nothing to come of it as Death still had two days before his vacation ended, but there was a clatter like a falling bag of skittles, and Death stood before her, his dice rolling to a halt on his tray. WELL, THAT'S A COINCIDENCE.

Susan rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it." But she didn't give him the chance. Instead, she told him what the Auditors had said, and there was a second clatter, this time of the tray and dice falling to the ground.

--

"Hey Adric, look at this!"

Adric put his book down and saw Jamie waving at him from the TARDIS console. "What is it?"

"Just c'mere, will ye? This is incredible!" Jamie was bouncing up and down like that time they bought caffeine-flavored gum in Japan and it had turned out to contain copious amounts of real caffeine. Adric hurried over, because if this new discovery was anything like that, he needed to confiscate it and call the Doctor immediately. He was disappointed to find that Jamie was looking at nothing more than a stationary picture with lots of text on one of the TARDIS monitors.

"Yahoo?" Adric read. "I don't get it."

"Well, ye told me going through the Doctor's files would help me learn more about tech-no-lo-gy. This wee mad thing is called the _Internet_."

"What's that?"

Jamie showed him the Doctor's comments. "The Internet," Adric read, "gained widespread use on Earth in the 1990s, reminder: do NOT accidentally mention this to UNIT, is an information systems technology that delivers fast access to all data stored in world-wide servers. Information is frequently presented in the form of websites. For most people, the Internet was primarily used to communicate and access porn-o-graphy. What's pornography, Jamie?"

"Uh," Jamie said, batting away Adric's attempt to type on the keyboard, "that's an entry ye probably shouldnae look at."

"The Internet sounds neat. So we can use it to talk to anyone on Earth?"

"After the 1990s, I guess so."

"How does it work then?"

"I think we're supposed to enter something called an address in this space here."

Adric flipped through the Doctor's notes some more. "Oh, an IP address, it's a combination of numbers that tells the computers what to access. Let's just type something in and see what we get."

Jamie shrugged. "That sounds good." He punched in a string of numbers according to the format Adric indicated and hit 'Enter.' "It says, message board."

Adric keyed in a search. "Message board, or forum: a place where people leave messages to each other under subject headings in a series known as threads. Hey, all we have to do is create an account. Click that there." 

"It's asking for a username and password."

"Hmm, let's use 'TARDIS' as the username. I bet no one else uses that. And a password should be strong, so let's use the initials of our names along with, say, the 45th through 47th entries of a Lucas number series, that should be good enough."

"What?"

"Oh give it over." Adric grabbed the keyboard. "There, account created. Let's see what 20th century Earth people talk about."

"Hey, look at that!" Jamie exclaimed. "There's a subject that's asking for help. And it's got a lot of replies."

"Hmm." Adric read the first post. "'I need help accessing the CIA mainframe...'"

There was a lot of information there, and the following posts seemed to be several hundred people discussing various attempts to get into a part of the Internet. "Wow, Earth people are so nice to each other," Adric said.

"That's terrible," Jamie said. "It's like the, what do you call it? Oh, right, the OP got locked out of his house and forgot his key. Come on, Adric, you're smart, we've got to help him!"

"I don't know, it sounds like the CIA, whatever it is, is a bit off-limits."

"But the Doctor's notes say the Internet is about the free flow of information. No part of the Internet is supposed to be off-limits!"

Adric nodded. "You have a point." It wasn't often Jamie got so excited about something that fell into Adric's area of expertise. Besides, he liked it when the older boy looked up to him; it made him feel like he was an important member of the team, which wasn't something that happened often when most of their adventures involved running and rescuing people out of traps, something that was far more Jamie's forte than his.

Several hours later, they'd worked it out with Adric doing most of the typing and Jamie looking up whatever obscure Internet lingo they needed from the Doctor's notes, of which there seemed to be a lot. The thread was gaining replies at a rate of four point seven three nine posts per second. "Look at that!" Jamie said. "They think you're a hero! Hit 'refresh' again."

At that moment, the Doctor walked in, yawning and stretching. "Hello boys, what's all the excitement about. Oh dear, we haven't materialized in a sun again, have we?"

"No, no, look at this!" Jamie rushed over and pushed the Doctor to the console. "We discovered an Internet forum and Adric's a hero on it!"

"He is? Oh my." The Doctor bent over to read the board. "Oh my," he said again, but this time he didn't sound so thrilled.

"What's wrong?" Jamie asked.

Adric looked up from the latest reply. "Nuclear proliferation," he said, "that's like mitosis, right?"

--

"Bloody hell!" Ronald T. Daniels screamed as the curtains of his bathtub flew open of their own accord to reveal a hooded, robed figure. There was no scythe in sight, but that didn't change his feelings one bit. He splashed around a bit and gathered the bubbles in his bath to more strategic positions. "I changed the ending! I swear!"

The figure lifted bony fingers to his hood and removed it to reveal a grinning skull with eyes glowing with the blue of distant stars. Daniels screamed again before Susan appeared behind the figure and put a hand on its shoulder.

"Really, I told you this was a bad idea."

"What do you want!" he demanded.

I ASSURE YOU, HE IS THE ONLY CANDIDATE.

"Why?" Susan asked, and if Daniels wasn't mistaken, she sounded as annoyed as he felt.

"Candidate for what? Stop stalking me, both of you!"

Death put his hands in his pockets again and withdrew a glowing sphere, pulsating red and orange. THIS IS A PIECE OF THE SUN. I AM TOLD IT IS NOT WISE TO LOOK DIRECTLY AT IT ALTHOUGH, OF COURSE, I WOULD NOT KNOW.

"Then take a step back! The water's hot enough as it is."

Death obliged, then looked at Susan. She sighed. "Would you please summon your housekeeper?" she asked. "She can't see us."

"Why the bloody hell not?"

BECAUSE SHE IS NOT ABOUT TO DIE.

"And neither are you," Susan added hurriedly. "The thing is, whatever gripes I have with some of your creations, you have a quite singular and powerful mind that allows you to see things most normal people cannot. Death and I cannot possibly be standing in your bathroom, or so most people would think, so their minds ignore us and we might as well be invisible."

"That sounds like a load of crockery to me."

Susan shrugged. "Nevertheless, it's true. You see us, and more to the point, you have a creative and powerful mind. So please, call your housekeeper."

"Pull the rope by the door," he said. Susan gripped it and jerked. A bell chimed somewhere in the house, then crashed to the ground.

NOW, PRETEND THIS IS AN APPLE. Death began holding out the piece of sun and Daniels waved frantically for him to keep it away. Droplets of water splashed against the surface and vaporized beyond steam, vanishing instantly. Death looked at him again. I WILL KEEP IT AWAY FROM YOU, BUT PLEASE IMAGINE IT TO BE AN APPLE.

His housekeeper bustled into the room and walked straight through Susan, who glared and said, "She can see what Death is holding. Ask her if it's an apple or a piece of the sun."

Daniels scratched his head. "Er, is that object floating in front of you an apple or a piece of the sun."

"Blimey, how'd you get a piece of the sun into the house, Mr. Daniels! Why, I bet it's awfully warm, if I could touch it AAAAAGH OH MY the rest of this sentence has been censored by Ofcom and the FCC"

Once the housekeeper was gone, Death and Susan shared a long look. "You sure you were trying really hard to imagine it was an apple?" Susan said. He could only nod in reply. The two of them vanished.

Daniels splashed for a few minutes after that, waiting to see if they would reappear. They didn't, and now his bath was not the proper temperature any longer. "You're welcome!" he yelled before yanking the curtains shut. He pulled a little too hard, and the frame collapsed on top of him.

"This is why I hate holidays," he gurgled.

--

Susan folded her arms and tried to look proper. You could get a long way just by looking proper. "I do not consider that adequate proof."

THE DISC HAS A STRONG BELIEF FIELD ASSOCIATED WITH IT, AND DANIELS IS BY FAR THE MOST SUCCESSFUL ARTIST ON THE DISC. HIS MIND IS COMPLETELY IN TUNE WITH THE FIELD. IF HE CANNOT MASK THE IDENTITY OF AN OBJECT, THEN THE BELIEF OF DISCWORLD IS BEING SUPPRESSED.

"By an outside force."

CORRECT. THAT IS WHY I, AS A BEING BOUND TO THE DISC, CANNOT INTERVENE. THIS TEST CONFIRMS WHAT THE AUDITORS HAVE SAID. YOU MUST GO.

"Off of the disc. Into outer space." Susan doubted proper encompassed such a possibility.

ALL YOUR POWERS WILL WORK ON OTHER PLANETS FOR AS LONG AS THE DISCWORLD EXISTS.

"You mean the Discworld might cease to exist?"

THE DISCWORLD IS ONE OF THE STRONGEST BASTIONS OF BELIEF IN THE UNIVERSE. IT WILL BE HIGH ON THE TARGET LIST OF ANY SIMILARLY OPPOSING FORCE.

"Grandfather," she said, trying her best stern voice. "You've seen more of space than I have. I would be lost out there. It's a ridiculous notion."

I CAN FIND YOU A COMPANION.

"I don't need a companion! I need an assistant!" Oops. Susan realized she just admitted she would go. Damn he was good at this.

COMPANION, ASSISTANT. THEY ARE THE SAME THING.

"Are not."

I WILL BE RIGHT BACK.

"No! You are staying right here until I am convinced that this is necessary!"

No one was listening. Susan stomped her foot at the futility of it all, but it didn't help.

--

It took two days and seven trips to Earth to sort out the CIA incident. In the end, UNIT asked Adric to write a virus that they released hours prior to the time the database was hacked which put up an extra firewall and sent out false designs for a suitcase fission device. The Doctor explained to the boys that the Internet was a dangerous place, and when Adric asked about pornography, he grudgingly explained that it was introduced onto the Internet by some man named James Harker or something similar (he wasn't sure because when the man found out he was the Doctor, he slipped something into his drink) to keep hackers distracted and protect the integrity of the system, and no, they were not allowed to see for themselves what it was.

Despite the frustration generated by their most recent adventure, the departure from Earth was quite warm. Adric made a surprising number of friends during his time there, while Jamie miraculously avoided getting shot despite drawing his knife on anyone near the Doctor or Adric with a gun in hand or holster.

"So where shall we go next?" the Doctor asked. "If you're still interested in technology, Jamie, I'd suggest Aiur. There's a telepathic race called the Protoss there, and they're famous for fried foods because all they have to do is think about it. Or Adric, you like math, how about a visit to Logopolis?"

"No!" Adric yelled. Jamie and the Doctor started, and he fidgeted under their gaze. "Uh, trust me, Doctor, that's not a good idea for now. Or, ever, really, but I guess that's beside the point..."

The Doctor recognized the fear of crossing timelines when he saw it, so he moved on, shushing Jamie when he tried to inquire further. "All right, then what about Endor? If I remember correctly, it's populated by giant teddy bears."

"Actually, Doctor," Jamie said, "before I found out about the Internet, I read that there were people living on the moons of Saturn some time in the future, and there's this accident involving a ship called _Red Dwarf_. It was really sad and I was wondering if we could help out the survivors."

"Don't worry, Jamie, that's a complete work of fiction, not real at all. I just liked the TV show."

"Oh. So Mr. Flibble doesnae exist?" 

"I'm afraid not, Jamie." The Doctor patted him on the back.

YOU CAN, HOWEVER, BUY ONE OFF EBAY. LOOK. The robed skeleton that appeared on top of the TARDIS console two seconds earlier withdrew a hand from his pocket to reveal a penguin hand puppet. It waved at them, its pupils dancing a jig.

"Death!" Adric exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

The Doctor's eyes widened. "You've met before?"

"Yeah, right before you rescued me from the burning ship."

"What are you doing here?" Jamie growled.

Death pointed his finger at Adric. I HAVE COME FOR HIM.

"Oh no ye don't!" Jamie cried, pulling out his knife. "Creag en tuire!"

"Wait!" Adric rushed forward and grabbed him before he had the chance to climb onto the console and step on something that shouldn't be pressed. "He's not here to kill me!"

"How do you know?" Jamie asked, still struggling.

TECHNICALLY SPEAKING, I DO NOT KILL ANYONE, Death said reproachfully.

"That's not helping!" Adric snapped.

Death stepped off the console, putting it between himself and the angry Scot. THE BOY IS CORRECT. I AM THE DEATH OF ANOTHER WORLD. I HAVE NO JURISDICTION OVER HIM. I AM HERE TO ASK FOR HIS HELP.

"His help?" The Doctor wrung his hands. "Whatever would you need his help for?"

Death reached a skeletal hand out toward one of the monitors and when it made contact, it just kept going until half his arm was submerged. Blue arcs of electricity fizzled about the screen, and then he withdrew his hand. YOU OPERATE ON A DIFFERENT PLANE OF EXISTENCE THAN MOST BEINGS.

"That's right, I'm the Doctor. I'm a Time Lord."

THE MATTER AT HAND WILL COME TO YOUR KNOWLEDGE SOON. THE FATE OF THE UNIVERSE IS AT STAKE. WE MUST EACH DO OUR PART.

"It'd be easier for the Doctor to do his if you told him what was happening," Jamie protested.

The Doctor shook his head. "How did you find us? The TARDIS is in transit. It should be untraceable."

I HAD NEED.

"Need?"

I TRAVEL BY PROBABILITY.

"Oh dear. How many trips did it take you to get here by chance?"

ONE. IT WAS A MILLION-TO-ONE CHANCE, AFTER ALL.

"I see. And you've met Adric before. By chance?"

ADRIC. Death considered the name. It was a good name. YES.

"I think I begin to understand the nature of your concern, even without the details."

I HAD HOPED YOU WOULD.

"So what do you want with Adric?" Jamie asked.

MY GRANDDAUGHTER HAS AGREED TO TRAVEL TIME AND SPACE TO INVESTIGATE THE MATTER, BUT SHE HAS NEVER LEFT THE DISC BEFORE. SHE REQUIRES A COMPANION SLASH ASSISTANT.

"You have a granddaughter?" Jamie's jaw dropped.

Death addressed Adric: SHE IS NOT AS BONEY AS I AM. I THINK YOU WILL LIKE HER, THOUGH YOU MAY FIND HER MORE DIFFICULT TO DEBATE.

Adric frowned. "It doesn't sound much different than traveling with the Doctor, to be honest. But why do you need me?"

FATE.

Adric turned to the Doctor, who nodded. "Even if the Time Lords ceased to exist," he explained, "the universe as a whole has a temporal momentum that self-corrects any deviations from the most probable timeline. There would be many more problems without the Time Lords, but the universe would not end. Ironically, the correction mechanism tends to manifest in the form of highly improbable events, such as Death finding you twice, in the right order of your own timeline, out of the infinite points in space and time that he could travel by chance. For whatever reason, you and Death's granddaughter are the best combination to face whatever force is pushing the universe off the proper time track."

"But what about us?" Jamie said. "You said yourself the Time Lords are supposed to monitor the universe."

"If I understand Death correctly, he is saying we do have our part to play, but it is not the right time for us to enter the equation."

THAT IS WHAT YOUR VESSEL TELLS ME.

"I'll go," Adric said. "No, listen Jamie, if you're getting involved too, that means we'll meet again. Sometime in the future. So it isn't really goodbye, and even if it was, I have to go anyway." He glanced at the Doctor. "I wouldn't be worthy of being in the TARDIS if I didn't take some responsibility for the universe. I mean, that's what the Doctor does, that's what all of us who travel with the Doctor agree to do, whether we know it or not."

"Now, I wouldn't put it that way," the Doctor said.

Jamie considered this. "But it's true, aye?"

The Doctor sighed. "Why yes, Jamie, I suppose it is, in a way."

THEN TAKE MY HAND, Death said. His eyes dimmed for a moment as he recalled the last time he had gotten involved with a mortal child. It occurred to him that this was what gods did, interfering with affairs and lives, but then, he wasn't a god, and neither was this Doctor, and he'd never seen an actual god do much work anyway. He was just doing what he could while the universe continued on, oblivious in its calculations of probabilities. Maybe that was why the Auditors always lost; they could afford to, because they knew they won in the long run.

Until now. For a moment, Death contemplated a world in which the Auditors lost for good and wondered if it would not be better. But only for a moment.

Adric took his hand, and the two of them vanished in a blue flash of light.


	18. Chapter 12: Words Fly Up

**Chapter 12**

**Words Fly Up**

House parked his motorcycle just inside the house and took a moment to mourn for his sidecar, which was still outside and would never be functional again, even if he could retrieve it. Then he turned and took in the large foyer, wondering where to go next.

He heard dual screams getting closer and closer but ignored them in favor of trying to memorize the lay of the room for later use. Owen and Foreman shot past him, their screams echoing with the Doppler effect as they turned a corner. A second later a pack of loudly barking dogs streaked past him in hot pursuit. 

"Huh," House remarked to himself. "Well, as long as they're entertaining themselves."

He decided to ignore the obvious difficulty the stairs would present and explore the ground level. He could hear the aliens disembarking from their silly spaceships and concluded that he'd better pick a destination quickly. There was a nice-looking door to his right and upon opening it he found himself in another hallway. 

"Goodie." He frowned. He could still hear screaming and barking in the distance, but it sounded like they were getting closer again. He took a couple steps forward and sure enough, both Owen and Foreman burst from one of the doors in front of them, trying to elbow each other out of the way. 

They quickly went through the opposite door and the dogs soon followed, although this time one of them noticed House and split off from the pack. House deftly and precisely hit it over the head with his cane as it charged. It fell to the floor and drooled.

"Yuck." House grimaced when some of the drool got on his shoe. He took the door Owen and Foreman had come from. 

He was in a dining room of some sort. "Where the hell is that slimy colonel?" House muttered. "And where the hell is Harkness? I thought he was catching up!" He was still getting mental feedback from Jack but it was really just a lot of panic and some bizarre snippets regarding an earthquake. House didn't know what _that_ was supposed to mean because he certainly hadn't felt any earthquake. His grumbling was interrupted when a man entered through an open door on the opposite wall. 

House instantly noted that something was off about the man and ducked under the table before he could be seen. This man was walking a little jerkily, as though he wasn't quite used to his body yet. _Alien_, thought House. 

As soon as the disguised alien got close enough, House flipped his cane out and deftly tripped it. Then he brought the cane down heavily on top of the correct spot on the alien's head. It passed out. 

In the back of his mind the panic over earthquakes calmed down. House wondered if everyone had found a secret stash of LSD and when they were planning on sharing with him. A quick search of the alien's pockets turned up a pistol and, oddly, a condom. House took both, because you never knew. 

The door at the other end of the room led to another long hallway. House had barely taken one step when Owen and Foreman darted out of one door and into the one on the opposite side, closely followed by about three dogs. House wondered who the architect of this place was and whether or not it was worth hunting him down and shooting him in the street. 

After some internal debate, he finally decided he should probably help his minions so they could get a move-on finding Smythe. He waited. Two minutes later, Owen and Foreman burst through a door to his right and this time House was ready. He dodged out, smacking his cane around wildly. All three dogs went down before they knew what hit them. 

"HAH! Who says you can't be an action hero with a bum leg?" House crowed. He was really getting the hang of this. He heavily suspected that he may have always been destined to battle evil or something. After all, he'd been battling bureaucracy for decades, and that was the same thing.

Owen and Foreman skidded to a stop and stared at him. "Woah," said Owen.

"You two are useless. Come on, we need to find that asshat colonel," House snapped. 

**--**

The first word out of Gwen's mouth was: "Rhys." Jack rushed to her side.

"Gwen, it's Jack. How are you feeling?"

_Probably like crap,_ House said in his head. Jack tried not to glare because that would alarm Gwen, but in his mind, he saw House wandering through Drumthwacket. _Don't you have better things to do than use my head like Youtube?_ Jack responded.

_She's my patient, if you remember._ But Jack thought he felt House's presence withdraw, even if he hadn't realized it was there to begin with.

"I... _oh my God!_" Gwen flinched. "What's _he_ doing here?" She pointed at Bilis who huffed and straightened his cravat.

"Uh." Jack leaned closer and whispered in her ear: "He's been helping us. It seems he has a crush on you."

"Is that so?" Gwen said, sounding a bit too interested for Jack's comfort. She began fussing with her hair to make it look more presentable. Then she stopped as she noticed her surroundings. "What the hell happened here?"

Cuddy muttered something under her breath that sounded like a lot of curse words. Many seemed to be German. Jack approved; if you were going to insult something, you might as well do it right.

"It's a long story," Cameron said. "Jack, we should get her back into the hospital."

"No." Gwen grabbed Jack's arm as he started pushing her gurney. "Please, just a little longer. I want to look at the stars."

Cameron began to protest, but Cuddy pulled her aside. "Perhaps you could find Chase another wheelchair and then look for transportation to Drumthwacket."

"That's a good idea." Tracy pushed Cameron away before she could object. She threw Chase over her shoulder and carried him off.

Jack kneeled down beside Gwen and took her hand as she lay still, staring up without a word. Watching her, he felt a sudden chill as his mind took in her pale skin and cold fingers, and he wondered whether he was at a wake and only dreaming the corpse was still alive. His eyes kept going to her abdomen, searching for the rise and fall of cloth that seemed to be the sole sign of life, and he had to force his gaze back to her face.

Bilis tried to move closer but Cuddy stamped on his foot. "No," Gwen said, moving nothing but her lips. "Let him come here. I need to speak to him."

"What could you have to say to Bilis?" Jack demanded, but he stepped aside when Bilis approached. The elderly man leaned over, and Gwen whispered into his ear.

"What? No, my dear, simply no."

"Use those exact words."

"But you are fine."

Gwen choked back a laugh. "Do I look fine to you?"

Bilis stiffened. "Very well." He vanished.

"Where has he gone?" Jack had to stop himself from reaching for his gun. "What did you ask him to do?"

"I want to make amends with Rhys, Jack." She held his hand as though she were drowning and it was the only thing keeping her afloat. "I love him. Not like I love you, but I love him."

"I... what?"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help overhearing," Bilis said, popping back into existence.

Gwen and Jack both glared at him. "Bilis!"

The man shrugged. "I can travel through time. It's not like there's any rush for me. Besides, Rhys is currently occupied with the pterodactyl."

"_What?_" Gwen tried to sit up, grabbed her abdomen and fell backward. "It hurts," she gasped. "It hurts." Cuddy ran up to her, a bit too late to restrain her, but she felt Gwen's forehead and shook her head.

"She's freezing. We need to move her inside, and I'll get another IV." They started wheeling Gwen away, and she gave the sky one last furtive glance before shutting her eyes, her brows furrowed in pain. Cuddy ran ahead of them, intent on returning before they got her through the lobby.

"How do you love the Captain?" Bilis persisted, sounding irritated and curious at the same time.

"Now is not the time!" Jack snapped. "She's ill and not thinking clearly." He turned to Gwen. "Of course, if you _want_ to answer..."

"Do you love _me_, Gwen?"

"Give her a chance to speak!"

"In any way at all. Love-hate, love like a brother, love like a tingly feeling in your--"

"That is _not_ a normal combination by the standards of any time period!"

"Jack..." Gwen murmured. The two men returned their attention to her. "What does it feel like?"

"I personally think it's the tingly feeling," Bilis said.

Jack hit him. "She's not talking to you. What does what feel like?" Bilis stomped on Jack's foot before teleporting away again.

"Dying," Gwen whispered. "What do you see when you die?"

"You're not dying, Gwen."

"It's not the same as Suzie, is it? Or John Tucker or any of the rest? I mean, the darkness, it could be because of the glove. Maybe they just don't remember."

"Gwen--"

"Tell me, Jack. Say something, _anything_!"

"I don't remember. It's like... going to sleep and waking up again. There's isn't darkness or something lurking in the shadows. There's just literally nothing in my memories."

Cuddy returned. "I've got the IV fluids here, Gwen. You're going to be all right."

"No, she's not," Jack said suddenly. Cuddy fixed him with an intense stare, and he froze, but not because of her. _What are you doing?_ he thought to House. "Stop that, Cuddy. You think you have an eagle's stare but you just look like a lost kitten."

Cuddy's jaw dropped. "_House_? Why are you imitating House?"

"I'm not!" Jack protested. "It... the alien device hit us while we fought Smythe for it in the morgue. Our minds are kind of linked."

It was a good thing Cuddy had brought several bags of IV fluid because the one in her hand popped in her grip. The entire hospital ground to a halt as she screamed like a banshee whose fingers had been caught in a door. _Or a banshee whose favorite pet is about to die,_ House said. _Aw, now isn't that a sad image? I'm going to wait to tell Cuddy that one on my own. No use making her cry if I can't be there to comfort her._

Jack focused extremely hard and added into House's memory the experience of being whacked really hard over the head with his cane.

"Ok, fine, I'll accept that," Cuddy said, wringing out what parts of her blouse she could dry without taking the thing off. "Now stop fighting him and let House give his diagnosis!"

"It's not a diagnosis," Jack said. "But..." He walked over and began lifting Gwen's hospital smock. His hand froze. "Hey, what are you doing!" he snapped. His other hand reached up and slapped him twice. Cuddy took advantage of the distraction to finish the job, and they both gasped as they saw garish purple streaks extending all across Gwen's stomach.

"Internal bleeding," Cuddy said. She raised her voice. "Nurses, help! We need to operate immediately!"

Jack stared as Cuddy dashed off with Gwen, a sudden entourage of hospital staff surrounding them. _Is that a new symptom?_ Jack asked.

_No. It's a symptom of that idiot Bilis teleporting her around while aliens knock down the hospital. She just came out of surgery._

_Then now what? You still don't know what's wrong with her!_

_Give me time!_ House snapped. But underneath the anger, Jack could sense frustration. House did not feel despair, but Jack did. House mentally sighed. _This is why we don't let those close to the patient in on our decision-making._

_I know,_ Jack replied, trying to feel humble. It didn't work, but he sensed approval from House. He didn't want House's approval, but if it helped the man think, he would beg on his knees.

_I think that would help,_ House said, grinning.

Jack kicked the reception desk.

**--**

While Jack was relieving his frustrations on the reception desk, Cuddy was getting down to business. She'd returned to the original scene after ensuring that someone with a reasonable amount of intelligence would take care of Gwen. She'd ordered Tracy to stay with her, and Bilis had stayed of his own accord.

"HEY!" Cuddy shouted, getting everyone's attention. "We have to get out of here, right?" The three sent off to find a vehicle had returned empty-handed, save for a new wheelchair, but that didn't get them any closer to Drumthwacket.

"Uh," said Jack, looking up. "You don't have to come. You didn't get hit by the alien device."

"Yeah, as if I'm not going to come after all this," Cuddy scoffed. 

"Fine. But we need a way of getting there."

"Well... my car wasn't in the garage, but there's no way all of us would fit in it with Chase's wheelchair too," Cuddy said.

"We wouldn't fit in mine either," said Wilson.

"Mine was in the garage," said Cameron sadly.

"Mine too. Oh no! My insurance company had better cover alien invasions!" moaned Chase. 

"I think that's the least of your worries, actually," said Wilson. 

"Shut _up_!" muttered Jack. Cuddy glared at him. "No, no, not you guys. Never mind. There's nothing for it; we'll just have to steal a car."

"What!" Cuddy said. "No one's stealing cars at my hospital!"

Jack's cell phone rang loudly. "Hold on," he said, and picked it up. "Ianto! You made it back to Princeton, didn't you?"

"With difficulty, yes, sir," said the voice on the other end. Cuddy listened intently. 

"And you're okay?" 

"More or less, but we have bigger problems right now. I'm with Tosh at the governor's mansion and we've found something you'd be very interested in."

"What?"

"Er, it's a stasis transmat, and you'd never guess where it leads."

"I don't plan on guessing," said Jack impatiently. 

"It leads to DC. Underneath the Botanical Gardens."

"Underneath? No kidding."

"That's not all. It's worse than we originally thought--much worse. It's some sort of industrial waste plant, and I'd bet my life it's powering a factory for making equipment that will utilize BRAIN technology."

Jack swore. "I always wondered why the ponds looked like that. Well, we're leaving now. Owen's already there, along with Dr. House and Dr. Foreman. We'll be there as fast as we can."

"Dr. House is here? Why?" asked Ianto.

"It's a long story. Later. Be careful!" Jack hung up and turned around.

"_No stealing cars at my hospital_!" Cuddy repeated.

"I'll give it back. Come on!" Jack ran out the doors, leaving the rest no choice but to follow him, with Cameron pushing Chase. Jack rushed to the parking lot. A fair amount of the cars there had been crushed by falling debris from the parking garage, but most of them were intact. 

"What about your car?" cried Cuddy. "You do have a car, don't you?"

"Yeah, and it's a minivan!" said Cameron. "I should know, I was stuck in its trunk!"

"Yeah, and it probably got crushed when the parking garage blew up," said Jack. 

"What about that one?" said Chase, pointing to a bright red minivan.

"I don't think I've ever seen a minivan that color before. It's usually reserved for sports cars and men going through a midlife crisis, I thought," said Wilson. 

"Who cares? Get in!" said Jack. Cuddy gave up protesting before she'd even started and unlatched one of the middle chairs while Jack busted open the paneling below the steering wheel. She dumped the chair on the ground, heaved Chase's wheelchair in its place with the help of Wilson, and, that finished, claimed shotgun. 

"Hurry up!" she shouted at Jack while Cameron claimed the other middle seat and Wilson shuffled into the back. 

"These things take time!" Jack responded about a second before the minivan roared to life. "Hah!" He jammed it into drive and skidded out of the parking space. Chase, whose wheelchair was not latched down in any way, slid backwards into Wilson, who was sitting behind him. 

"AHHHH!" they both screamed in unison and, when Jack braked sharply in surprise, causing Chase to slide forward and slam into the back of Cuddy's seat, Wilson quickly undid his seat belt and slid to the seat behind Cameron instead. Cameron decided she'd better buckle hers. 

"Don't scare me like that! I'm driving!" Jack yelled at them from the front seat.

"I'm sliding all over the place!" Chase yelled back. 

"Deal with it!" Cuddy told him. 

"He almost crushed me," Wilson whined. 

"Play nice or don't play at all," said Jack as he started the car up again. Chase's wheelchair slid backwards again. He braced his feet against Cuddy's chair to stop it sliding as Jack left the parking lot and careened around a corner at top speed. 

"Stop kicking my seat!" Cuddy shrieked.

"Well _sorry_!" said Chase, but he didn't stop. Jack turned another corner so fast that the minivan was briefly moving on two wheels, and Chase's wheelchair tipped over onto Cameron's seat. 

"Move!" said Cameron, shoving it so it straightened up again.

"I can't help it!" Chase cried.

"No shoving!" Cuddy screamed.

"Stop all this racket or I will turn this car around, don't test me, I swear to God I will!" Jack bellowed.

"Are we there yet?" Wilson moaned from the back.

**--**

The teleport dropped Monty out into thin air about three feet above the floor, and he fell face-first, getting a mouth full of carpet. He spat, wondering how many shoes had tread there, and tried to get up. He failed. Screaming in pain, he managed to roll over and start gasping for air, his arm throbbing as though it had been roasted. The room swam before his eyes, but he managed to get a good enough look to see he was in the governor's bedroom.

Rebeca appeared above him, her trademark smile that looked like a sneer but not incriminating enough to be one plastered across her face. "I thought you had his mind under control. He doesn't look very docile to me."

"He managed to undo the conditioning." Monty twisted his head further and saw--upside-down--the attorney saunter out of the bathroom and sit onto the bed.

"Impressive," Rebeca purred.

"They got away," Monty said, fighting the fatigue that assaulted his mind. Between it and the pain, he was surprised he could get a word out. "You failed."

"Streed is dead," Howell told Rebeca, who was peering out the window. "He got thrown out one of those."

"Well, I'll have to remember to thank whoever did it." She stroked the pane as though every window in the world had been responsible.

"I put him in harm's way."

"I know. Thank you."

Howell slipped off the bed behind Rebeca. "Is that all the thanks I get?"

"Yes. Because that's all you did." Rebeca slapped his hand away from her shoulder. "Now that he's disposed of, we can move on--"

"I'm not done yet." Howell stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His hands began creeping upward. "In the language of your species, I am a man of power. You should be more grateful that I shower you with my attention and favor."

"And?"

Howell nuzzled her neck. "I confess your species fascinates me. I have explored many aspects of your culture, but thus far, the pleasures of the flesh remain... unexperienced."

"They shall remain that way, at least as far as I am concerned." Rebeca's voice had turned cold as ice. Monty heard her slide the safety off a handgun, though from his perspective she remained motionless. Howell had stiffened, though, and by his pose, Monty assumed she had the muzzle pressed against his chest.

"A gun?" Howell chuckled and overtones of his alien voice crept in, distorting the sound.

"Each bullet tip is a capsule of compressed dichlorine designed to dissolve in conditions matching your internal biology." Rebeca pushed him back with a single finger, as though any additional contact would cause her disgust to exceed acceptable bounds. "My husband may have been worthless but he wasn't entirely a fool."

"This is an intriguing development," Howell said. His tongue flicked in and out twice, moistening his lips.

"We've been studying you as long as you've been studying us. I am not helpless, and, unlike our poor, innocent Monty, quite competent in going toe-to-toe with you from the get-go."

"You are a greater fool than your husband ever was. Shoot me and you are dead, but let me go free and I will see you dead. You can't hold me hostage forever."

"I don't intend to, but you still need me. Now that the Governor is dead, his assets transfer to me, including all the documents he's been hiding away in his little accounts. The lieutenant-governor doesn't know about you, and your puppets in DC will wonder about Howell meeting such an untimely demise in the heart of your operation. I can assuage their fears, and besides, we have a common enemy. So long as any member of Torchwood lives, they will hunt both of us until we are dead. So I suggest your first order of business be with the two Monty failed to kill, rather than with me. Does that make sense?"

The two stared at each other as minutes ticked by. "You will take care of the three who have breached this house," Howell said, stalking out of the room.

Rebeca touched her neck where Howell's lips had been, but instead of showing disgust, she just deepened her smile. She returned her attention to Monty. "You poor thing, bleeding all over the carpet--no, don't worry, I'm going to have it replaced anyway, what with Howell sliming his way in and out of the place." She kneeled beside him and caressed his face. Through the fever, her fingers felt like ice cubes running down his cheeks. 

The sudden change in her attitude toward him came as no surprise. Monty had witnessed years of fights and torrid reconciliations, moments of shocking insight negating others of petulance. She changed moods and personalities as most people changed clothes, but she had the ability to make others believe her and forget the Rebecas of the past. He suspected the trick might even extend to herself.

It did not extend to Monty because the moments before were all that mattered to him right now, but she didn't need to know that. "What are you going to do to me?" he asked.

"You were a loyal aid to Governor, and you will be one to me. You are not stupid, Monty; you've been in politics long enough to know what's good for you. This is the future, and you can rise with me." She leaned forward, and this was the moment he'd been waiting for. "I will nurse you back to health if you let me."

Her lips touched his, and he responded as best he could. Moaning with what he hoped sounded like passion, he put one hand against the side of her chest and let the other one drift toward her thighs. "Oh yes," she gasped, tracing her tongue against his skin up to his earlobe. "This is good, isn't it?"

Monty touched something cold and smooth, traced the outlines to be sure and replied, "Yes. This is perfect."

With one smooth motion, he seized the scissors from her pocket and brought it down against her back with all his strength, knowing he did not have the speed to reach her neck. To his surprise, the blades slid between two bones of her ribcage and went through, slicing through flesh as though it were paper. He heard Rebeca draw in a sharp breath as it cut into her heart, and it sounded no different from when she was in the throes of passion.

He looked up and saw her staring at him. "Why?" she asked, sounding like a frightened child. Her hair brushed against him like strands of silk, the effect ruined by the beads of sweat that had begun matting them together. As her strength faded, her weight pressed stronger against him. Her skin felt like a newborn child's, flushed with the influx of new emotions and experiences. For a moment, he almost felt sorry for her.

"Toshiko," he told her, feeling her every heartbeat as another rush of warm liquid against his hand. He drew strength from the name. He had removed one of her enemies, but Tosh was still in danger. "You sent him after her. Pray she survives, or I'll hound you through hell itself."

Her last breath was a gurgle as her lungs filled with blood, and then she was a dead weight pinning him to the ground. Screaming with the effort, he threw her off, wondering if the effort would kill him. But he could not die so long as Tosh lived, and the conviction got him out the door. The scissors were disgusting, but he kept them until he could find a better weapon. The stairs were not far away, and he thought he could retrace his way to the basement. This was his territory, and he'd be damned if Howell got the best of him here.

**--**

House had taken care of the dogs, but there was still the minor matter of at least hundreds, likely thousands, of aliens swarming the mansion. House had the handgun he'd lifted from the unconscious alien and Owen had a couple shots left, but against that many they were essentially defenseless. They could hear them stampeding into Drumthwacket now.

"Seeing as I will obviously not be outrunning them, I suggest we make like the Spartans," said House. Then he found a door to a bathroom and went inside.

"What?" said Owen and Foreman together.

"This will do nicely," said House. "What are you waiting for? Come on!" Owen and Foreman shrugged and followed House into the bathroom. House closed the door behind them.

"This has connotations I don't even want to think about," said Foreman. "Mind enlightening us on what we're doing in here?"

"Don't be stupid. There are thousands of them, right? Well, they probably have explosives and military-grade machine guns and these walls won't stand a chance, but our best option is to get into an enclosed space where they can't take us on all at once right? Spartans. Didn't you see _300_?"

"Fine," groused Foreman.

The door flew open again and they stared into the face of an alien disguised as a human. It opened its mouth to yell but didn't have time to get anything out, because Owen shot it before it could.

"Moron!" hissed House. "You should have let me take care of it! They'll all have heard that!" Owen ignored him and pulled the large rifle out of the unconscious alien's hands. He examined it, then handed his handgun to Foreman.

"Here," he said. "You can have this."

"I'd rather have that," Foreman said, pointing at the rifle.

"Too bad," said Owen. "This is an M-16. They're generally standard issue in the army, but this one's especially nice, looks like it's been upgraded. I'm keeping it."

"Then you're standing in front," said House, moving back. He almost tripped over the edge of the bathtub, but he managed not to fall in by grabbing the towel rack. Foreman laughed at him. 

Just as House had predicted, several more aliens came their way. Foreman pulled the door shut and wedged it using a scrubbing brush, but seconds later an axe smashed through one of the walls. Foreman, who was nearest to it, yelped and hopped back. The axe came through again.

"These are ridiculously flimsy walls," House remarked. Two more axes smashed through with the first one and the wall crumbled, leaving all three of them exposed. There were at least fifteen aliens in the room, and three of them weren't even disguised. 

"Ugh," said Foreman. "They look like what ate me!"

"What?" said House, momentarily distracted.

"You know, remember I said a clinic patient ate me and that's how I ended up locked in the trunk? I just realized, they looked like those! And the ones back at the hospital!" 

"A clinic patient looked like that and you didn't notice something was up?" asked House. "I suppose I can't be too surprised... a lot of them lot are not much better."

"He was disguised until a certain point!" Foreman yelped.

The aliens apparently decided enough was enough and attacked. The three of them yelled and, after fumbling with the scrubbing brush for a second, managed to open the door and rush into the hallway. It turned out to be a bad idea, because there were even more aliens there, and more were spilling out of other rooms by the second. 

They charged. House swung his cane wildly and Owen and Foreman shot in every direction, but there was no end to them. Foreman ran out of shots quickly and, after chucking the empty gun at an alien's head, hid behind Owen. 

It seemed quite hopeless, but a mere minute after their desperate battle had started, a tall, thin man rushed down the stairs behind them, shouting, "Get to the plant, you idiots! We need every possible guard there now!" Then he ducked through another door, all without ever noticing House, Owen, and Foreman. 

The other aliens paused, several looking torn, but some shuffling in the back turned into a mass exodus as every single alien turned and went back outside to their flying saucers. 

"That was lucky," said House. 

"That was the attorney-general!" said Foreman. "I'm sure of it!"

"Plant?" Owen said.

"I bet if we follow him, we find Smythe," said House. "Come on!" Foreman grabbed various weapons from the aliens they'd taken down, and Owen followed suit, before going after him. Maneuvering was awkward when they could each only really control one arm and they had to concentrate to avoid overbalancing the other.

The door the man had disappeared behind led to an old-fashioned spiral staircase.

"Great," said House. "This is going to be a bitch." Foreman and Owen went down first and House limped slowly and painfully after them. All the action was not good for his leg. It was a long way down and ended in a cavernous room filled with piping. 

There was a flash of light in the corner as the attorney-general vanished. 

"What was that!" Foreman said. 

"That was a transmat," said a voice behind him. He yelped and turned around. 

"Ianto! Tosh!" said Owen, sounding relieved. Foreman relaxed. House finally made it to the bottom of the stairs, glanced around, and whistled. Then he looked straight at Ianto and Tosh.

"Where the hell have you two been? We could have used some help!"

"We were, ah, indisposed," said Ianto while Tosh looked sheepish. "See, this isn't actually the transmat we used earlier. There's a total of five in the basement, and working out the network connections in the house has been difficult." 

"It doesn't matter," said Foreman. "We need to figure out where he went!"

"We know where he went," said Tosh.

"What are we waiting for then?" said House.

"Jack's on his way."

"He's taking too long, and I haven't heard anything from him in ten minutes. Let's go!"

"Heard anything from him?" Ianto asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Long story," said Foreman.

"He'll be here any second, I'm sure," said Tosh. House grunted impatiently. 

There was a loud crash from above, followed by a screeching noise. Then there was silence.

"Umm..." said Owen. The high ceiling made an ominous creaking noise. 

"_Move_!" roared Ianto. They all threw themselves out of the way as a slightly beat-up, fire engine red minivan fell through the ceiling and landed right where they'd been standing.

"Oh my _God_," panted Tosh. A second later the minivan's driver side window rolled down. Jack Harkness grinned out at them.

"Miss me?" he said cheekily. Cuddy was screaming curses at him from the seat over and the faint sounds of whimpering came from the back seat. 

"What--" said Tosh.

"Get in!" Jack interrupted. "We're taking this thing to alien headquarters!" 

"Want a weapon?" Owen asked him, handing over two M-16s and a large axe. Jack took a rifle, gave the axe to Cuddy, and handed the last rifle to someone in the back.

"Great," he said. "Let's get going before something really bad happens!" 

One of the back doors slid open and Cameron motioned them inside. House, Owen, Foreman, Ianto, and Tosh all climbed inside and crowded between the seats when there weren't enough. House gleefully kicked Cameron out of her seat and commandeered it on the basis that he was a feeble cripple. Cameron glared but said nothing. 

Foreman handed around his stash of extra weapons, which included two grenades. 

"With all these rifles we look like retarded gangsters," said Chase doubtfully. "Except we're in a minivan, which is hardly a gangster car. We're like the Minivan Gangsters."

Everyone ignored him. As soon as the door was shut, Jack grinned and revved the engine. The minivan roared the remaining distance and screeched to a halt onto the transmat pad.

"Hit the switch, Tosh!" Jack said. Tosh punched a command onto the wristband, and the machinery whirred to life. Lights blinked, consoles beeped. Everyone braced themselves, as though expecting the car to plunge off a precipice the next moment. Instead, the sounds died away as dramatically as they arrived, and nothing happened.

"Why didn't it work?" Wilson asked.

"Uh, that monitor there." Ianto pointed.

One of the displays had entered a bluescreen: "Load too large."

Everyone rolled down the nearest window and stuck their head out to see the front and rear bumpers of the minivan protruding beyond the edge of the circle. Jack groaned.

"So much for a dramatic exit," Chase said happily.


	19. Chapter 13: Divine Tragedy Arc1 Finale

**Chapter 13**

**Divine Tragedy**

Jack and Ianto took turns beating the front car bumper with the axe Owen had taken from the aliens. The rear one lay in a mangled heap in the corner and had taken over six minutes to sever from the minivan. The front appeared intent on outdoing its peer.

"If I may say so, sir, this is a good thing," Ianto said between swings.

Jack was doubled over, hands on his knees and panting for air. "Explain exactly how you came to that conclusion."

"After Monty failed to kill us, sir, Howell took up the chase and tracked our transmat to the factory. He knows we were there, and he knows we're returning. Tosh intercepted transmissions ordering every alien fighter recalled to DC, and we believe he's filling the entire building with hallucinogenic gas." The bumper screeched but clung on.

"So doesn't it make sense that we should get there _before_ they finish all their defensive preparations?" House said.

"No," Owen replied.

Foreman and Cuddy both turned to him. "Why not?"

"Uh," Owen scratched his head. "Ask Tosh."

Tosh didn't realize they were all waiting for her answer until House threw an empty ammo clip at her. She jumped. "What? I'm sorry, were you saying something?"

Ianto let the axe head drop to the ground and leaned against the handle. "I agree with Tosh, sir. We should go back for Monty. He fought for us every bit as hard as if he were a member of Torchwood himself."

"How do you propose we find him?" Jack asked. "There's no time left. If we don't get into the factory soon, aliens are going to start pouring out of every transmat and overrun us."

Ianto looked at Tosh, waiting for her response. She sighed. "You saw the database in the plant, Ianto. It's their only base of operations. Destroying it will effectively end the invasion. We have to do it, and now's our only chance."

Jack took Tosh's hand and looked into her eyes. "Thank you, Tosh. I know this is hard for you."

"He's strong," she replied. "He'll make it."

Ianto brought the axe down with a roar and the bumper dropped like a squirrel that had lost its footing. Gasping for air, he tossed the axe back to Cuddy, who shouldered it like a lumberjack. Everyone piled into the car, and Jack was about to ask Tosh to begin the second attempt when Foreman cut in.

"So we're armed for the aliens," he said. "What about this hallucinogenic gas?"

Tosh and Ianto both turned to Jack. "What?" he said. "Is there blood on my face?"

"Remember when the spider droid attacked us in the hospital, sir?" Ianto asked.

Jack thought about it, and the expressions that crossed his face went from confused to thoughtful to excited to indignant. "I'm not kissing all of you!" he said. Ianto nodded, about to mutter, "Good answer" when Jack was stupid enough to add, "It'd be physically impossible to maintain contact with everyone at the same time."

Tosh had the keen insight to offer the wristband to Ianto before he had the chance to snatch it from her hands and injure her wrist in the process. "This," he said. "Any article of clothing or object that has been in close physical contact with you will work to negate the hallucinations. Like so." He put the wristband back into his mouth.

"Eeeeew!" said Foreman and Chase at the same time. Cameron, on the other hand, looked thoughtful. Owen just rolled his eyes, chalking another normal day with Torchwood up to some deity or universal force having a personal grudge against him. Cuddy glared at all of them, daring someone to ask her to stuff an article of clothing into her mouth.

"Just give me something clean," Wilson said with a suffering air.

"Well, I'm immune," House said. "Maybe that alien artifact didn't do me such a disfavor after all."

"How do you know the link will work?" Jack said before anyone could ask what the hell House was talking about. "We've never tested it or--"

"He has a certain instinct for jumping to the right conclusion," Chase said.

House reached over with his cane and poked him in the forehead. "Thank you, Chase. It's nice to know that you'll suck up to me even when the hospital lies in shambles."

Jack sighed. "Well, if I _must_, then I will strip for the greater good." He grinned.

Before anyone could react to Jack's offer of personal sacrifice, the transmat began powering up. Everyone stared at Ianto, who spat the wristband out of his mouth.

"I didn't touch anything!" he protested.

"The transmat obeys conservation laws by switching the contents of the two pads," Tos explained. "The aliens must be trying to come here!"

As though someone had switched a television channel, the view outside the window brought up a scene befitting the interior of a volcano. Streams of molten metal poured down from trenches all around, and above, the automated droids of an assembly line showered sparks down upon them. The minivan swayed as its parking spot rotated out into thin air. Four fraying ropes were attached to rings at the corners of the platform, and they went up to loop around a hook at the end of a crane.

"Shoot," Cuddy said. "It's a trap!"

Howell waved at them from the operating booth, then pulled a lever. The crane lurched as its arm jerked free of the weight of its load, and the minivan began the plunge that everyone had presciently expected before.

"_It's a vat of molten steel down there_!" Owen screamed.

Chase clutched at Cameron. "We're going to DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!"

Wilson shoved his way up to the front passenger seat which House had managed to appropriate from Cuddy. "No, don't say anything, House," he admonished when the diagnostician opened his mouth. "There's something I need to tell you before we die."

"Okay..." House said.

"I love you."

Four jaws dropped--the jaws being the ones belonging to, in alphabetical order, Cameron, Chase, Cuddy and Foreman--followed by silence except for the sound of air rushing past the minivan. Wilson grabbed both sides of House's head and mashed their lips together.

A jarring thud threw them apart as the minivan's plunge came to an abrupt halt. House slammed against the door and Wilson flew all the way back into the trunk. Everyone else just shook back and forth like bobble-head dolls. The tense expectation of steel melting through the car frame and roasting them all dragged on, and on, and on. Tosh peered out the window.

"It looks like the aliens miscalculated," she reported. "The length of the platform is roughly the same as the diameter of the vat."

Owen groaned. "Tosh, if I'd known my life would one day depend upon geometry class, I'd have paid more attention in high school."

"What she means is the aliens tried to plug a square peg into a circular hole," Ianto explained. "Can't be done."

"So we're not going to die?" Wilson's voice drifted up from under a pile of rifles.

"No," House said. "Not yet."

"Oh. Well that's embarrassing."

There was an ominous creak.

"However," Tosh continued in a Let's-Discuss-The-Logistics-of-Playtime-My-Fidgety-Preschool-Wards voice. "The heat of the vat is sufficient to melt the platform we are on within twenty-five seconds."

"_Step on the gas!_" Cuddy screamed. Jack didn't hesitate. He rammed his foot against the pedal, and the minivan shuddered before lunging forward, tires screeching. The forward momentum of the vehicle propelled the platform backward so that the forward edge of their support began falling into the vat before the minivan was fully moving. They all grabbed the edges of their seat and screamed as they soared through the air. The back tires caught the edge of the vat and the minivan flipped, tumbling through the air. By sheer chance, it landed upright fifteen feet down on the factory floor. There was a collective sigh of relief.

"That was close," Ianto said.

"Oopsies," Cameron said. "I dropped a grenade."

Foreman buried his face in his hands. "Everybody out!" Jack yelled.

The doors flew open and Jack hit the trunk release, causing Wilson to tumble out the back. The Torchwood members shoved the others through unceremoniously before leaping out themselves. The minivan shattered in a thunderous plume of flame that suggested Cameron had dropped more than one explosive.

Before they could regain their feet, the world began spinning. "The gas!" Ianto yelled before he stuffed his mouth again.

"The gas must be denser than air!" Tosh exclaimed. "Jack's clothing won't eliminate the hallucinations completely, but if we can climb higher, we might escape it altogether!"

"Come on!" Foreman said, pinching his nostrils shut. "Strip!"

Jack unclipped his braces. "Any other day, and that would be a perfect request." He tossed one to Owen and the other to Foreman. They both chomped onto the middle of the fabric and wrapped the ends around the back of their heads.

Jack stopped.

"Come on, Jack!" Tosh protested. "Now is not the time to develop a sense of modesty." Everything began growing dark as the hallucinations closed in.

"I refuse to go into battle wearing only wet pants!" Jack said. "House, how are you doing?"

"Wonderful. And my wonderful vision is telling me that we are in a completely open space and aliens are setting up machine guns nests above us right now."

"How about my shoes?" Jack asked Chase and Cameron. Seeing the look on their faces, he said, "Ok, fine." He reached into his pocket and tossed a handful of loose change at them. "These should work too."

Chase dumped his collection straight into his mouth, but Cameron weighed the five and ten pence coins in her hand and said, "Do you know how many people have touched this?"

"Right now, only one of them matter," Jack said, pointing at himself. Cameron frowned but slipped three coins under her tongue anyway.

"Hey, it works!" she said. "What about you, Chase?" She waited for a reply, but all she heard was "Erp!" She glanced over. "Chase?"

"I think I swallowed them," he said weakly. Cameron rolled her eyes.

"Faster, Faster!" Cuddy said. "Jack's the only real thing I can see now."

Wilson crawled out of his pile of M-16s and made a flying grab at Jack's shirt. It tore at the seams, and he tumbled away with the entire article of clothing in his hands. "Ha!" he said, stuffing it into his mouth.

_That is not the Wilson I know_ House thought to Jack. Jack was surprised that the overwhelming sensation he felt from House was pride. Maybe the man enjoyed driving his friends mad.

"He kissed me, too," Jack said out loud. Wilson glared at him.

"That's the best idea I've seen all day," Tosh said, ripping Jack's undershirt off him as well. "Come on, Cuddy!"

It was too late. At that moment, Smythe materialized behind her despite the fact that there was no transmat beam. He had a glowing orange device that looked like a battery strapped to his arm. Twisting Cuddy's arms behind her back, he dragged her after him. Cuddy fell to the ground, and Jack took the opening to fire three shots at him. The bullets froze just before touching his chest and fell to the ground.

"Behold," Smythe said, his voice a whisper and yet audible over the roar of the factory, "the power of BRAIN as it is meant to be used." He lifted Cuddy to her feet and retreated behind her. "Not that I will give you another chance to fire. Know that if you do, she dies as well." They both teleported away.

A new sound became evident to Tosh even over the cacophony, and she looked up in time to see Howell sending the crane down at them. "Chase, Cameron! Duck!" They dropped to the ground, but Howell anticipated the reaction and lowered the hook to compensate. It caught both their shirts and lifted them up like stuffed animals in an arcade.

"Oh no you don't!" Tosh ran after them and jumped, grabbing hold of the chain above the hook just as the crane began ascending again.

"We're going to fall!" Chase screamed, and indeed, the fabric was already ripping.

The hook soared up in an arc, soon ascending several meters per second. As it spun, Tosh saw that Howell was attempting a repeat performance of their earlier encounter. "You have to fall before we reach the vat!" she told the two doctors.

"There's nowhere solid to land!" Cameron said.

"Brace yourselves!"

"What are you doing?" 

"You're going to kill us!"

"Three."

"You're aiming for that conveyor belt over there? That's insanity!"

"Two."

"How are we going to survive with all those moving parts chopping up metal?"

"One."

"Aw hell."

Tosh reached down and tugged. Her added force caused the hook to tear through their clothing as though they were held together by Velcro, and they went flying. Tosh congratulated herself on her perfect aim as they sprawled across the moving convey belt amidst jagged pieces of scrap metal, but her satisfaction was short-lived.

The crane ground to a halt, and she looked down to see a new, much larger vat beneath her, glowing and churning like a sun. The hook swung back and forth but not enough to send her to safety. She wondered if she could wait Howell out and was answered when the crane began jerking up and down like a rodeo horse. "Shit!" she said as her fingers nearly lost their grip, but she stared into the booth and thought of Monty having to confront those cold, alien eyes. Imagining the chain was Howell's neck, she inched her way up the links toward the arm of the crane some fifteen meters above. The shaking increased, but she ignored it. Fly on a wall, she imagined. No one ever dislodged a fly once it stuck. Higher and higher she went, and she could see the look of frustration on Howell's face as he beat rapidly at the control panel. His face gleamed as sweat poured down, and she smiled at him.

_Damned if I'm going to let him win,_ she thought. She giggled as she looked down at the glowing morass below and added, _Quite literally._

--

Whoever came up with the idea of see-through stairs by means of pieces of metal with lots of holes riddled in them hated humanity, Owen decided as he and Foreman clanged their way up to the catwalk five meters above the factory floor. Chase and Cameron's screams were still audible as the crane swung them out of sight, but the stairs soon took him high enough to see them fall onto a conveyor belt. House and Jack were taking the set of stairs opposite them, and they regrouped once they reached the top.

"Can we figure out a path to them?" Foreman asked.

Owen surveyed the maze of walkways, stairs, ladders and piping that extended from them to where Chase and Cameron were two small specks of white bobbing up and down amidst lots of specks of gray, and they weren't even a third of the way across the length of the factory. He got the feeling they were a little underprepared for this confrontation. A helicopter and some heavy weaponry would be a good start to closing the technological barrier, but only a start.

The aliens began firing machine guns from their various fortified positions. The four of them threw themselves to the ground, and sparks flew as bullets struck the railing and bounced off.

"Grenade!" Jack demanded. Owen removed one from his belt and tossed it over. Jack removed the pin and threw it without looking. One of the gun nests exploded, taking out three suspension cables with it. The platform swung past just above their heads and into a catwalk on the next level up. The aliens went flying as the walkway snapped in two and swung up and down like a teeter-totter. Foreman let out a cheer which turned out to be premature as one end of the walkway then came slamming back down onto the level they were on, sending them all into the air.

Too late, Owen realized Jack's braces had fallen out of his mouth amidst all his screaming. He fumbled with it, trying to keep it from flying away altogether, when he looked over and saw Howell swinging the crane back around for them. It caught the end of the brace just as he managed to get it around his neck, turning the object of his salvation into a noose. Two seconds later, something heavy slammed into his back, sending him spinning. He caught Foreman, also choking on his piece of Jack's clothing. Owen considered helping Foreman out with his left hand in hopes that the doctor would do the same for him, but then he gave it up as being to confusing and settled on trying to avoid choking with his right hand alone. The fact that the crane was now rotating back the other way, trying to catch House, did not help.

The hook missed House, but House didn't miss Owen. As he fell past them, he latched onto his leg to avoid falling into the molten steel below. Jack was not so fortunate, and the vat swallowed him up with a slurp, but Owen was too busy dealing with the added weight of House to worry about it too much.

"Choking... me..." he gasped, tugging harder at the brace.

"Hey!" House yelled at Howell, ignoring him completely. "Let them down! It's not politically correct to lynch minorities." He looked up at Owen, who was beginning to see stars. "Or Welshmen."

"Get off!" Owen kicked House with his other leg and sent the man flying.

The hook began shuddering, which was not an action previously in its repertoire. He glanced up to see Tosh sliding back down the chain. Realizing his new posture eased his breathing, he continued tracking her rapid descent toward them.

"Damn you, Owen! I was almost at the top!"

Owen decided now was not the time to point out that he valued his life slightly more than Toshiko's strained muscles. When she reached the bottom, she began tugging at the braces, but their weight kept them from budging.

"You're making it worse!" Foreman screamed.

"Stop flailing; you're making it worse!"

"Do something!"

"Foreman, grab Owen and climb up him. That'll give me enough slack to get the brace off!"

"No!" Owen screamed. "He'll break my neck!"

"You have no choice!" Tosh snapped.

"Yes I do. I control his left arm! No arm, no climbing."

Tosh reached down and tugged hard at his noose. "Help him do it or I'll break your neck myself."

"Grrrk!" Owen replied, but he concentrated long enough to make Foreman's left hand close on his own shoulder, and Foreman grunted as he pulled. Tosh slipped him off the hook, then repeated the procedure for Owen, telling him, "Oh good, you're lighter."

They plummeted through the air. "There's something yellow under us," Foreman told him before biting down on his brace again, this time making sure to keep the rest of it away from his neck.

From his vantage point slightly higher up, Owen saw they were falling toward the roof of a bulldozer. Then Foreman slammed into it and Owen fell on top of him. The metal dented inward, breaking their fall enough to prevent them from breaking anything else.

"Aliens!" groaned Owen, throwing himself off the gasping Foreman and dropping to the ground as another volley of gunfire broke around them. Foreman screamed and rolled off the roof onto Owen, knocking the breath out of him.

"Now we're even," Foreman said.

"I see keys! Grab them!"

They leapt into the vehicle, managing to share the driver's seat. "How do you drive this thing?" Foreman asked, pushing at random buttons. The bulldozer started going backward. "Turn around! Turn around!"

"I can't turn around! If I turn around I won't know how to steer with your left hand!"

"Then you steer with one hand!"

"That's not very safe!"

"Neither is driving a rampaging bulldozer in an industrial waste processing plant!"

There was a loud crash as the bulldozer reached the end of the walkway and ripped through the railing as though it were made of paper. "Forward! Make it go back!" Owen screamed.

Foreman punched something which made the blade swing upward, shifting their weight even further backward. The bulldozer tipped over the edge.

--

Wilson and Ianto peered out from underneath a very large workbench. Ianto had tried to go after Jack, but Wilson, sensing danger, had pulled him under. 

By now, everyone else was out of sight, having been dragged away for various reasons.

"So what, exactly, is BRAIN?" Wilson asked when he'd caught his breath.

"It stands for Beta-Radiating Abstractive Innovatory Neurology," Ianto replied.

"That's a mouthful."

"Er, yeah. To put it very simply, it's the idea of mind over matter. As it turns out, humans have a large amount of psychic energy, but we can't use it because it's all latent. BRAIN technology is using outside forces to harness that psychic energy and turn it into a weapon."

"Oh," said Wilson. He chewed on his lip. "That sounds dangerous." He glanced mournfully over at the smoking remains of the minivan. He stopped chewing on his lip and starting chewing on the sleeve of Jack's shirt when the minivan threatened to morph into a daisy.

"This is a ridiculous factory," said Ianto conversationally. "Not exactly what you'd expect to see underneath the Botanical Gardens. More like in a bad science fiction movie with an unreasonably high budget."

"You know what?" said Wilson. "I think we're going to need a deus ex machina to get out of this one."

A lot of feet marched past the desk. Ianto and Wilson drew back. Predictably, the last set of feet stalled, then a head belonging to a disguised alien peeked under the table. Ianto lunged forward and dragged him under, a hand over his mouth, before he could give away their presence. 

It didn't matter. The alien kicked and struggled and generally made plenty of noise, so that the whole group of marching aliens noticed and backtracked.

Ianto and Wilson were momentarily distracted by the bizarre costumes the aliens were wearing. They seemed to be trying to imitate soldier uniforms, but they had unfortunately taken their cues from _The Nutcracker_, and so in addition to the bright red velvet and gold rope trim, they had big fake mouse ears and whiskers painted on.

There were about twenty-five of them, all staring (or trying to shove one of their comrades aside so they could stare) at the two men huddled under the workbench. Ianto broke the silence by giving the captive alien a hard push, sending him right into the pack at a fairly high velocity. Wilson grabbed a wrench and threw it also for good measure.

The wrench landed with a promising _thunk_ as Ianto and Wilson scrambled out from under the bench and sprinted away.

"After them!" hollered the one who was probably the leader of the little gang. The alien mouse warriors took off, chasing Ianto and Wilson across the factory floor. 

They leapt over two conveyor belts in a row like hurdles. Wilson chanced a glance back and saw two aliens, not entirely used to their current form, trip and fall onto the belts, only to be carried away at high speed. 

The rest looked very angry and were doing a good job of keeping up. 

Unfortunately, the fact that Wilson was looking behind him meant he wasn't watching where he was going, and therefore he did not notice when Ianto skidded to a stop, and plowed right into him. 

Ianto had stopped because he'd come to the edge of a precipice. They both tumbled over the side, and one of the mouse soldiers, unable to stop himself in time, tumbled over with them. They landed not very softly in something like a mining trolley on rails, with Ianto and Wilson in one car and the mouse soldier in the one behind them. 

The impact caused the lever keeping the trolley in one place to jolt and they began to move, slowly at first but gaining speed. They gained altitude and it quickly became clear that the purpose of the carts was observation, and also that they were not supposed to go at the roller coaster speed they were going at. 

"AHHHHHHH!" screamed Ianto, Wilson, and the random alien mouse soldier at the same time. Ianto gathered the presence of mind to grab the alien by the front of his flamboyant coat jacket and heave him overboard, then returned to screaming as the cart reached a bit of a drop and unsteadily raced down the tracks. 

Below them, the alien hit a pile of wood chips with a sick thud.

"There has to be an emergency break somewhere!" shouted Wilson. "Who designed this stupid thing?" He held onto the edge of the cart for dear life and groped around the floor of the cart at the same time, unable to see clearly because the rattling of the cart was jerking him around so much. It was like the worst wooden roller coaster ever.

Finally he found a lever on the floor and, hoping it was the right one, he yanked at it. It slid up easily and the cart screeched to a halt so suddenly that the momentum threw Wilson and Ianto both out of the cart and into thin air fifty feet above any surfaces. 

"AHHHHHHHH!" they screamed together as they plummeted. 

Their fall was broken by a flimsy shed roof, which they hit, fell through, and ended up landing on a pile of straw inside.

"That was lucky," remarked Ianto when he'd got his breath back.

"Oh my god it is like we are in a bad cartoon," said Wilson. They attempted to stand, but the straw was making it difficult. The whole inside of the shed was filled with it.

"Interesting," said Ianto, looking down at the straw.

"I never want that to happen again," said Wilson. "Ouch!" he added when something pricked his hand. He looked where Ianto was staring. "What the hell?" 

"Needles," muttered Ianto. Wilson stuck Jack's sleeve back in his mouth, thankful he'd tied it around his neck before all the chasing had started, but this was not a hallucination.

"Why are there needles mixed in with all this hay?" moaned Wilson, really not needing his life to become any more surreal.

"Well, if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say they were trying to understand humans so they could pass for one," mused Ianto.

"What? With needles and hay? What a silly idea!"

"Well, from our perspective, yes. But we take saying and idioms like that for granted, don't we? 'Like a needle in a haystack.' They were probably trying to make sense of something that is nothing more than a quirk of language."

"Great. Now they're not just aliens, they're socially retarded aliens. Can we get out of here before I ended up covered in pinpricks?" said Wilson crossly.

They didn't get a chance. The double doors of the shed burst open and they found themselves looking down the barrels of a dozen rifles, courtesy of a dozen alien mouse soldiers. 

Wilson buried his face in his hands. "Wake me up when it's over, will you?" he said, then for clarification added, "I'm still hoping I'm just asleep and I've dreamed the last two days."

--

"That was _seriously_ unpleasant," Jack said, climbing heavily out of the vat. Molten steel rolled off him in the same way mercury might. "It's nice to know that sort of thing won't kill me, though. I've always wondered."

"BASTARD!" House was yelling from somewhere beside the vat. Jack looked over. House had somehow managed to land on the only soft objects in the whole room--a couple bags of feathers, used for who knew what. Now he was having trouble getting up. Jack grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet.

House stared at Jack, then rolled his eyes. "I think you've lost your pants," he said.

Jack looked down. "So I have," he observed. "Must've gotten burnt off."

"Aren't you going to get some more?" asked House after a short pause. 

"What, here?" 

"I really can't be seen with you like this. People might think I'm gay."

"I hardly think that's your biggest problem."

House looked up at the rest of the group. Chase and Cameron were just barely in sight, high above on a conveyor belt, and Owen and Foreman were trying to drive a bulldozer and failing quite spectacularly. Wilson, Ianto, and Cuddy were nowhere to be seen. 

"Didn't Cuddy get kidnapped?" said House, frowning.

"Er," said Jack.

"That was rather silly of her."

"If you say so," said Jack, who had given up.

"Still, I suppose we'd better go rescue her. You never know, maybe she'll reward us with sexual favors."

--

The far end of the conveyor belt ended in a furnace, and Cameron could see Chase was in no position to run away, thanks to the way he'd neglected her body. Right now, she had him on her back as she ran against the flow of the belt, dodging left and right to avoid jagged scrap metal like she was in a game of Frogger. The belt vibrated from the combined force of her footsteps and several spider droids climbing up the structural supports. Chase provided a running commentary on their progress.

"They're getting closer!" he said. She spared a glance to see them swinging from one triangular set of beams to the next like chimpanzees on the warpath. "They have things in their claws!"

One of the droids threw itself into the air and five feet in front of them, sending waves up and down the belt. Cameron screamed and turned around, but another one swung from below to block her path. She turned, expecting to see the first robot to have closed in on her, but it remained the same distance away, jogging backward at her pace.

"The other one's doing the same thing!" Chase said. She took his word for it and focused her attention on the one she could see.

She ran faster and it clanked backward faster, though she soon stopped that because the struts below them were creaking. The droid opened a compartment and removed a top hat, which it glued to the top of its body.

"Just so you know," Chase said into her ear, "the one behind you is juggling. It's up to seven balls now, and it just added a live iguana. Whoops, never mind. There goes the iguana."

The one in front of her started drawing a face on itself using a bottle of whipped cream. Raising two of its legs into the air, it mimed being trapped in a box. Then it pushed around the whip cream to change the smiley face into a frowny face.

_Wait!_ it signed, holding up one leg and clapping two blades together. With the other "hand," it drew out a flower and offered it to Cameron. A spray of water squirted out into its own face, and the droid pretended to fall backward in surprise.

Cameron was so intent upon figuring out what the droids were up to that she stopped paying attention to where her feet were going and stepped onto a piece of metal. Her ankle twisted and she began falling. The droid dropped the act and pounced before she was halfway to the ground, and she screamed. So that was the plan; catch them off guard so they couldn't escape. Well, she refused to play into their hands, claws, whatever...

She let Chase slide off her back and shoved him to her right, causing herself to fly leftward. The droids slammed into each other, and then the two humans were falling through the air.

Chase struck a droid that was still climbing up and grabbed it. It screamed, a mixture of a screech and whine, and began flailing, crashing into one beam and then another. "Listen, buster," Chase exclaimed, "there's nothing wrong with my arms, so I can hang here, blocking your vision, for as long as I need. So how about you cooperate?" The droid struggled a little longer, during which time Cameron was acutely aware of the fact that she was still falling and nothing was coming to break her fall except the ground.

Finally, the droid bobbed up and down in a gesture of acquiescence, and Chase slid his hands over a few inches off its visual sensors. "All right, then rescue that falling woman, er, man, now! Whoa!"

The droid set off at an astounding speed, essentially falling while speeding up its acceleration by swinging at the supports and pushing off them. In three seconds, it was alongside Cameron and wrapped an outstretched tentacle-arm around her waist. Then it latched onto the nearest strut and began stopping their fall, letting go and grabbing the next beam down whenever the force of their deceleration threatened to injure them. It took another twenty feet for them to reach a complete stop, but when they did, they were all alive, if a bit shaken and hanging just five feet over a contraption filled with spinning blades that was shredding metal into tiny slivers. 

They dangled there long enough to catch their breath, and then their savior climbed over a few feet and deposited them onto a balcony. Chase patted its body, cooing, "Aww, who's a good spider?"

It responded by leaping onto the balcony beside them, knocking out half the wall beside the entryway, and rubbing itself against Chase. Her coworker responded by _giggling_.

"Looks like you have a new pet," she said in a flat voice.

"Don't be jealous, Cameron, it doesn't suit you." A beam of light shot out from the droid, which it then played up and down Chase's body. The scan eventually focused on his leg, and then the robot lifted him up and dropped him on top of it. "Hey, look, it's giving me a ride!" He bounced up and down as they began moving into the next room and struck his head against the top of the doorframe. He fell to the ground unconscious. Cameron sighed, and the droid actually slapped its own head. Then it skittered off and returned with some rope, which Cameron used to tie Chase to the robot's back.

"I'm the smart one," Cameron told it. The droid bobbed again, a sign Cameron took as agreement. Together, they continued into the room, which was darkened and glowed blue from the rows and rows of monitors present. She guessed these were the control stations for the industrial portion of the factory. "Do you know how to turn the factory off?" she asked.

There was a twirl, which Cameron guessed was the opposite of bobbing.

"I guess I'll just have to figure this out myself, then." She took a seat and began typing.

--

Tosh regained the top of the chain after rescuing Owen and Foreman from their ridiculous predicament. The muscles in her arms felt like they were on fire, and she cursed both of them as she realized she still had the length of the crane's arm to go. _Honestly_, she thought furiously, hoping anger would distract her from the task at hand, _who's stupid enough to get braces caught around their necks?_ Of course, that made her think of her own token of Jack's. Those 51st century pheromones were making her dizzy and getting on her nerves.

The crane stopped jerking about like a dog with fleas, and she had a moment to savor the stillness before the chain started retracting. "Damn you!" she yelled at Howell, keeping her eyes fixed on the diminishing length between her fingers and the spinning gears reeling her in. She'd had about a meter left before reaching the absolute top, and she hoped that was enough. Mental calculations flashed through her head in the seconds remaining, and then she let go.

Her upward momentum carried her just high enough that she wrapped her arms around the crane itself and pulled herself atop the arm. The chains clanked below, but she was safe from them now. "Hah!" she exclaimed.

Howell started beating at the controls again, and she nearly slid off the end, but she caught herself and persisted in shimmying down the length of the arm. Realizing he wouldn't lose her that way, Howell stopped shaking the crane and pulled out a gun. Tosh did the same, as she no longer needed both hands to keep the machine from bucking her off, and she fired first. Since hers could fire on automatic and he only had a handgun, she won. He tossed the weapon aside and dodged out of the booth. She heard fading footsteps as he vanished into the distance. She kept up her fire until he was out of range, but her arm shook so hard she couldn't line up a good shot, and the bullets clanged harmlessly against the floor of the catwalk.

Once he was gone, she checked the chamber and saw she had only several shots remaining, so she turned off the automatic and slid the remaining way into the booth of the crane. Then she clambered off and pursued.

The walkway ended in a crossroads, branching in opposite directions and attached to stairs that led to the levels above and below. Remembering the gas and wanting to get Jack's shirt out of her mouth as soon as possible, she went up.

She found three aliens perched at the top, setting up a machine gun. Though there were a few close misses because they were uncooperative enough to move, she used her remaining bullets to take out their eyes, as she wasn't sure where to fire to kill them. Then she pushed them over the ledge, took over their position, hefted the machine gun and said, "That's more like it."

At least seven other nests were within range and visible. She took out three before the others realized was happening and re-aimed to target her. The bullets punched through steel and forced her to abandon her position until they stopped firing. Then, using water to cool the barrel, she opened fire again.

Another type of gunfire rang out, and sparks flew as the bullet missed her head and struck the gun instead. She swung the weapon around to aim at the newcomers streaming up the stairs. The barrage tore the first two into a bloody mess, causing their handguns to drop. The ones behind pushed them forward as meat shields, and Tosh ran out of bullets before the two corpses ran out of mass.

Five remaining aliens circled around her, and she saw they were weaponless and out of breath. Doubtless they had rushed over as soon as someone saw the position compromised, but there were still the two guns on the ground. One of them bent over to retrieve the closest weapon, and Tosh grabbed a piece of railing that had dislodged when she pushed her earlier opponents over. She swung it around and knocked the gun away, then hooked the other one and pulled it toward her.

Shots rang out and sent three blinded aliens staggering over the edge. The other two reared up and tried to body-slam her. She ducked out of the way and whacked one over the head. It felt like striking a water bed. Not expecting the skin give in so much, she failed to bring the rod back around in time, and the second alien rolled into her.

Before it could crush her under its weight, she spat out Jack's undershirt, wrapped it around the empty gun and stuffed them into the alien's mouth. It roared but somehow managed to get the ball stuck in its throat. Hacking and gagging, the alien rolled back the other way, bringing down the other one. The two tumbled end over end and teetered over the edge for a second before Tosh took one last swing at them and decided which way they would go.

Her surroundings failed to change when she took a deep breath, confirming that she was indeed above the gas. Then she saw a man run through a door several floors up, and since he wasn't anyone she recognized, he had to be Howell. None of the other aliens had disguised themselves. A quick visual search didn't find any other humans, so she decided to pursue. Whether Monty was all right or not, the alien would pay for what he'd done to him.

Two flights of stairs up, she tripped on the landing. She swung her bar around, thinking an alien had caught her, but there was nothing there. A black box about 125 square centimeters large sat at the edge and had caught her foot. On the top, there was a note: "To: Toshiko, the girl pursuing my heart."

"That's just wrong," she said, trying to pick it up and toss it down into a vat. The box didn't budge, but when she paused in her efforts, she heard beeping. "Shit!"

She leapt over the box and down the stairs, legs pumping as she dashed along the catwalk. The box detonated, filling her vision with white, and metal groaned as the entire network of suspended walkways began collapsing in on itself. About ten meters ahead, she saw steel bend downward as the floor began to slant and its weight dragged itself further and further down.

With only two meters left to go, she jumped and closed her fingers around a vertical piece of railing on the side that was not about to break off. The catwalk snapped and the supporting metal under her fell away, leaving her hanging fifty meters above ground level. Arms feeling ready to snap, she pulled herself up and staggered to her feet, brushing herself off in an attempt to calm her nerves. It did not help that when she looked up, she found herself staring into the barrel of a rocket launcher.

--

The bulldozer smashed through four layers of scaffolding to collapse onto its side upon a conveyor belt. Foreman and Owen stopped screaming long enough to realize this particular assembly line carried plates ready to be stamped. Then a massive press the size of the bulldozer came crashing down upon them, and the screaming resumed.

The frame creaked as the machinery pressed down upon them, but finally, the time limit came up and it lifted again, permitting them to move on to the next stage.

Another press came down, and the plastic windows shattered.

"Oh my god, it's like we're Natalie Portman in _Star Wars_!" Foreman screamed.

"She had better reflexes!" Owen screamed back.

The machine struck a third time, and the compartment began crumpling. Foreman threw up his hands to hold back the collapsing metal, but Owen happened to be lying on his left arm and got punched as it flew up of its own accord.

"Ow!" Owen clutched a bleeding nose. Foreman's left had raised up and began pounding him in the face. He roared and tried to stop the attack with his right hand, but then the bulldozer dented further and slammed into his elbow, striking his funny bone. He howled in pain. Owen did not sympathize and continued using his own arm to assault him. "Hey Foreman, stop punching yourself!"

Foreman retaliated by taking control of Owen's arm and strangling the man. "Stop. Choking. Yourself. Bastard!" he said between punches to his face.

"I hate you!" Owen gasped.

"Sentiments. Returned!"

The bulldozer shuddered, causing them to return their attention to their predicament. "Hey! We're past the presses!" Owen exclaimed.

"We've also reached the end of the line."

A claw descended from the sky and picked them up. They decided to stop fighting and save their breath for more screaming. Sure enough, the bulldozer was not a shape that accommodated the claw's design, and it lost its grip on them. They tumbled through the air.

"Uh," Foreman said, pointing at something beyond the remains of the window. Owen turned his head and saw an iguana falling alongside them. A chain of juggling scarves trailed from its foot, and as the cloth flapped about the creature, the other end snared on its tail, forming an arc that caught the air and inflated. With a _whoomp_, the scarves turned into a parachute and the iguana appeared to soar upward.

"Lucky git," Owen muttered.

Their own luck wasn't that bad as the bulldozer slammed into a number of canvas bags that burst, sending up a minor explosion of feathers.

Owen clambered out of the wreckage spitting down out of his mouth. "That was a hell of a ride."

Foreman hyperventilated.

A moment later, the iguana dropped onto Owen's shoulder and experienced significant bowel movements on his shirt.

"Gross!" he exclaimed, knocking the animal off him and sending it skittering into the recesses of the vats. He tore his shirt off in his haste to keep the excrements from leaking through. "Not a word of complaint," he growled, raising Foreman's fist in warning. 

Foreman shrugged. "After the last two days, this is perfectly normal. But try to keep your pants on."

"I'm not Jack," Owen snorted. As he laughed, a flash of light caught his eye, and he glanced up in time to see a streak of flame and clouds headed their direction. Following the trail back to its source, he saw an alien at one of the highest levels of the factory. Based on the line of silver extending along its bulk, it held a missile launcher. He grabbed Foreman's arm and ran. "Incoming!"

--

Howell dabbed at the streams of sweat pouring from his brow as he watched the missile soar away from his compatriot. This would teach the humans a lesson. He had ordered his soldiers to bring in the most advanced missiles they had in storage at the DC facility, which while not even close to rivaling their usual firepower, would be more than sufficient to wipe out these nuisances.

The alien bent over the case of ammo and brought out another shell to load. Then it paused and looked over at Howell, its eyestalks quivering. "What is it?" Howell snapped.

"You ordered us to bring the most advanced missiles," it replied in its guttural voice.

"Yes, so?"

"_Rhakz isel nor kregh_!" The alien quivered in agitation.

Howell's mouth dropped open. "What do you mean the label says 'heat-seeking'?"

All around the factory, aliens were in position with targets sighted. They began firing.

--

Cuddy tried to scream, but Smythe clamped a hand over her mouth. She hadn't received any clothing from Jack, so happy purple bunnies were closing in on her from all sides and a turtle with floppy dog ears and glasses was spinning above her head. 

The spinning was making her dizzy. She wished it would stop. There were sequins falling in waves from the turtle, which was quite mesmerizing. 

The hand over her mouth smelled sort of foul, and the odor distracted her from the rapidly spinning turtle. She bit down on it, not eager to taste the source of the smell, but very eager to get it away from her face. 

There was a high-pitched shriek and the hand fell away. The sense of movement did not fade, but a slight case of vertigo set in when giant purple, pink, and orange clouds rolled in above her and started raining granola bars. 

"Ouch," she said instinctively when one fell at her head, but instead of actually hitting her, it fell right through her. "Right," she muttered. "Hallucinations. There are no clouds in factories. Not often, anyway."

Behind her, Smythe had turned into a giant tater tot, and the crane to her right had morphed into a yellow high chair. 

She struggled against the tater tot, but it was somehow holding her firm. To her left, a plumber was trying to force a melon through the eye of a needle. She sighed and gave up, taking the hint. 

Vaguely, she understood that the tater tot was taking her somewhere she probably didn't want to be. 

Michelangelo's _David_ walked up to her and started complaining about the size of his penis. He said he had a hard time satisfying the _Mona Lisa_, which was why she had that stupid fake smile on all the time. Cuddy told him not to try any of the enhancement pills advertised all over, because they didn't work, and reassured him that at least he wasn't a eunuch. She knew a man who was half a eunuch because he'd changed his mind in the middle of the operation. He thanked her and left. 

She remembered that the man she knew was actually her computer mouse. 

For some reason, she knew that thought was an odd one, she just couldn't for the life of her figure out why. 

She was just starting to feel a little like she was Alice in Wonderland when the tater tot shoved some sort of pill into her mouth. She choked a bit, then swallowed it by accident. 

Thirty confusing seconds later, the tater tot was no longer a tater tot, but once again Colonel Smythe.

"You!" she gasped, trying to sort out what was reality and what wasn't and simultaneously twist out of his grasp. He didn't budge. "You have the... the alien thing! Hand it over!"

The hallucinations had all faded by now, and she found she was in a fairly large storage room, with racks of tools along the walls and a rusting pile of various metal in one corner. In other words, it was a room full of potential weapons. This did very little to comfort her.

"There would be no benefit for me if I did that," said Smythe, a bit haughtily. "I think I'll hold onto it, thanks."

"I need it!"

"I have no doubt."

"Grrrr." Obviously, he wasn't just going to hand it over. So much for the direct approach. Cuddy switched tactics. "Fine. This technology you're using... the hallucinogens in the air. What's that called again, BRAIN?"

"It's closely related; the differences are too subtle for you to understand." This was said with a hint of pride. Cuddy watched the odd smile on Smythe's face as his head swayed a miniscule amount from side to side atop his abnormally long neck. _He's human_, she remembered. _Not an alien in disguise_.

"What do you plan to do with it?" she asked. _So human_.

"I could do anything!" There was definitely more than a hint of pride there. _Good_.

"Like what?" she challenged. "Impress me."

"I quite enjoyed your little strip tease back at the hospital," Smythe said with a leer. This threw her off completely. 

"What?" She cast her mind back and eventually remembered that yes, she had indeed pretended to strip for several army officials in order to buy House time. She blushed. "That was a ruse!" she shouted.

"Oh, I know it was. But since then, I have been quite interested in seeing your cute little panties."

"What has that got to do with anything?" Cuddy demanded. 

"Well, I can do _anything_ with BRAIN technology, which means I can do _this_!" In a flash, he was holding her panties in his free hand. She felt a draft. 

"Why you--!" she began, before remembering it was a horribly cliché way to begin a threat. She settled for twisting out of his grip and stamping her foot.

"That is obscene! Give me those back!"

"Ruse or not, you did promise," Smythe teased. He twirled the panties around in his hand, using his superior height to keep them away from her.

"I did no such thing!" 

"Ah, you break my heart, Doctor." He put on a fake sad face. "Very well. What are you willing to do to get them back?"

Seeing no other option, Cuddy took a deep breath, grabbed his face with both hands, and mashed a kiss onto him. Surprised, he dropped the hand holding her panties within her reach. She took the opportunity and snatched the panties away from him. Without sparing the time to think, she acted instinctively, swinging him around and throwing the panties around his neck. She pulled tight.

Smythe was too surprised to react properly, and a second later he was choking. With luck, his panic would keep him from remembering to use BRAIN. He flailed, but Cuddy had a tight grip and he had no leverage. He couldn't throw her off. Slowly, his struggles grew weaker and weaker until he fell to the floor, blue-faced. She held her panties there for several more seconds, just to make sure.

As she was getting up the door burst open and Jack ran in, brandishing a rusted pipe.

"Alright, _where is she_?" he shouted, swinging the pipe around. House sauntered in after him.

"Chill, I think she handled it just fine herself." Jack stopped and lowered the pipe, embarrassed.

Cuddy glanced down at the panties in her hand and blushed, equally embarrassed. She regarded them for a second more and then tossed them to the side, deciding she'd rather not wear them now. Then she looked back at Jack and blushed harder.

"You're naked!" she told him. He grinned and wiggled his hips.

House was laughing. 

"Shut up and help me out here," Cuddy snapped. She bent over and started going through Smythe's pockets. She found the alien device pretty quickly and handed it to House, who shoved it at Jack.

"Reverse this stupid link!" he demanded. 

"I don't know how to!" Jack said.

"Why not!" 

"Why would I? We have to find Tosh! If anyone can figure it out, it's her."

"She'd better not die, then! Last time I saw her, she wasn't exactly in a safe place!"

"You just hold onto that, and _don't lose it_." 

"Why don't you put on some of his clothes?" Cuddy suggested to Jack. Jack glanced down at the corpse and made a face.

"Ew, no thanks," he said.

"I'm not going to lose it, I'm not an incompetent," House said. Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"This is a stupid argument," said Jack.

--

When the computer screens began spewing alien text at her, Cameron knew she was in trouble. "CTRL-ALT-DEL, CTRL-ALT-DEL!" she said, bashing at the keyboard. A red light on the wall ignited and began spinning, and the monitors all went dead, showing only: "Unauthorized access detected." Alarms sounded.

Immediately, the droid sat up, having been curled up beside her seat while she worked. Pointing its sensors in multiple directions, it ran up to a corner of the room and smashed through the wall with its arm. Catching a bundle of wires between its claws, it tugged and ripped everything apart in a storm of sparks. The room went dark. Outside, the clanging of machinery and hiss of moving liquid steel continued, and Cameron peered out to find the factory still operating as usual.

"Great. We broke the room that can break the factory."

The droid tilted its head. It flickered and turned transparent, while a whiteboard appeared where it was standing, but the image was so fuzzy she couldn't read the text scribbled on it. At first, she was confused, wondering whether the droid was malfunctioning, but then she remembered the attack in the hospital. "Oh!" she exclaimed, spitting Jack's coins out of her mouth. At once, the droid flickered out of existence and turned into a whiteboard that read: "You want to shut down the factory?"

"Yes, and preferably put it permanently out of commission. Do you know how?"

An invisible hand wiped the board and then scribbled: "Of course."

"Will you help me?"

A line appeared under the two words, and the droid popped back into existence. Beckoning for her to follow, it dashed off into the next room. Cameron followed as best she could, considering the lighting approached pitch dark the further she wandered from the factory proper. When she commented on this fact, however, the droid projected a hallucination of the surroundings properly lit into her mind.

After a series of control rooms, they emerged into a cylindrical room that loomed up over a hundred feet and dropped down so far the space diminished into a point due to perspective. A walkway circled a glowing column that had to be an advanced form of power generation; something big had to be powering a factory that might be the largest in the United States, and she'd seen no engines to this point.

"It must be difficult to destroy," she commented. The droid projected a map in her mind and indicated a storage closet on the other side of the room. Meanwhile, from the direction they'd come, a series of red dots were headed their way. It gave her a push and turned to face the intruders.

The door was unlocked when she reached it and swung open at her touch. She assumed the droid must have hacked the system. Inside was several containers full of C4 explosives. The map in her mind changed to schematics about how to rig them, and she began following the instructions.

When she emerged from the room, packs of explosives under her arms, the droid was engaging in a ballet of death amidst a group of seven aliens, chopping at them with the blades at the end of its tentacles while dodging the bullets with exquisite ease. Within seconds, it had disarmed its antagonists, and, in even less time, vivisected them. Cameron stopped watching once the blood started flying and concentrated on hooking up the charges. Once the screaming stopped, she looked up and saw the droid watching her, its arms not up to the delicate task of wiring explosives.

"Sorry, I'm going as fast as I can," she said. It shrugged by waving two arms at her and plonked down onto the floor to wait. She finished two minutes later, though her hands were shaking at the thought of what she was doing, which was ironic as they remained steady under the most extreme circumstances in the emergency room. But then, she wasn't blowing anybody up in the emergency room.

They retreated to the original control room before Cameron triggered the detonation, but as she did so, a waterfall of molten steel plunged down onto the balcony from the factory and started flowing toward her. She screamed and ran in the opposite direction straight into the column of fire rushing forth from the generator room. "Crap!" she said, but moments before certain death, the droid slammed into her and pushed her against the edge of the room, and the flames rushed by just inches from her face. The heat didn't seem to bother the droid, though it kept shifting position to keep Chase from getting burned. This was mildly distracting, as it meant drool kept dripping onto her neck at random intervals, but she supposed it was better than getting incinerated.

--

The first missile curved away its projected path moments after it launched. Owen found this development so surprising he stopped in his tracks. Since he was still holding onto Foreman's hand after their initial moment of panic, Foreman continued onward and caused him to fall onto the floor. His weight brought Foreman crashing down on top of him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Foreman snapped.

"Look, the missile isn't heading for us anymore." Owen pointed and they watched its smoke trail angle and make several loops. "I wonder if it's guidance system malfunctioned."

"Why would a rocket use a guidance system?"

"I don't know, but it must. Maybe it's some sort of alien technology... Christ on a pogo stick!" The last comment came about because the missile had spun its way next to a vat and decided it had found its purpose in life. Soaring upward, it plunged straight toward the opening and detonated. The container shattered, giving a fair visual approximation of a volcanic eruption as the streams of molten steel arced through the air and plunged toward the ground, melting and bringing down every other piece of machinery they touched. By the time the entire chain of destruction ended several hundred meters away from Foreman and Owen, enough machinery to serve Torchwood Three's needs for several centuries had been reduced to slag. It served as a testament to the size of the factory that as a whole, that it still appeared mostly unharmed.

"It was a heat-seeker!" Owen said. "Are they retarded? What the hell are they thinking?"

"Probably nothing at all," Foreman said in a quavering voice as over forty new smoke trails became visible. "Now we really need to run!"

Owen didn't need to be told twice. Detonations began overhead, sounding like a fireworks display of nuclear weaponry. In the distance, he spotted a door with an LED display next to it.

"Elevator!" Foreman said, taking the words out of his mouth.

"What if it gets damaged?"

"Do see those stairs over there instead?"

"Yeah!"

"Look up!"

"Oh."

The stairs led nowhere, and additional examination showed that everything over twenty meters had sheared off and scattered all across the factory. He wondered when that had happened. Nevertheless, Foreman was right; the lift was their only chance now.

Debris from the explosions began raining down, which meant the molten stuff would be following soon thereafter. Sure enough, a stream splashed down just ahead of Foreman, and he barely dodged it. His pants caught on fire from the extreme heat, however, though it took them both a few moments to notice.

"Drop and roll but don't stop!" Owen yelled. Foreman screamed and started rolling but not in the right direction. Owen kicked him. "No, that way!"

"I'm getting dizzy! Is the fire out?"

"No, it's on your shirt now too!"

_Splash!_

"AAAAAARRRGGH!" Foreman covered his face as droplets soared past his face. "Maybe if I just lie here everything will be ok!"

"Don't you dare!" Owen kicked the now immobile doctor, but he refused to move. Sighing, Owen bent over and started rolling Foreman ahead of him like he was a bundled carpet. All around, molten steel dripped down and oozed toward them while jagged rods spun through the air like falling tree branches. A particularly large flow was still ahead and cutting off their escape route. "All right, the fire's out! Get up, get up!"

Foreman scrambled to his feet and screamed again when he saw the river of metal ahead

"Keep running!" Owen said, following the command up with a string of curses.

"Let's circle around!"

"We won't get there fast enough!"

"It's too wide to jump across!"

Owen slowed down just enough to fall behind Foreman and give him a push as he attempted to turn away from the glowing orange mass ahead. Left with no choice, Foreman jumped and landed on the other side. Owen had to double back, having lost some momentum because of Foreman, before attempting the jump, and the extra time cost him the heel of his shoe, but they both made it into the elevator.

"Come on, come on!" Foreman said, pushing the top floor in rapid succession.

"You're going to break the button!"

The doors closed, shutting out the hissing outside, and they breathed a sigh of relief. The heat seemed to lessen as well as the car jerked and began ascending. Owen's sole continued to smolder, but that was a minor consideration. "We did it!" he said. "We're alive!" He hugged Foreman and to his surprise, the other man hugged him back. They jumped up and down a bit, figuring that their run of bad luck was finally over.

The lift clanged as its upward motion came to an abrupt halt, leaving the car swinging in the shaft. All the lights went out, plunging the interior into complete darkness. Both of them froze.

"Oh god," Foreman said. "No, no, _NO!_" He jabbed the open door button to no effect, then pounded the wall. "Why is it always us? Get us out of here! Somebody help!" He started ramming the door with his shoulder over and over again. Owen wondered whether this was what fish thought when they smashed themselves to death in aquariums.

A man's voice saved them, though, as someone called from the other side of the door: "Foreman?"

"Chase?" Foreman said. "Or, I mean, _Cameron_? Oh, I've never been glad to hear from you before!"

"Don't you mean you've never been _so_ glad?" Owen asked.

"_Shhh_! Not so loud!"

"I heard that." Cameron said. "Nevertheless..."

A gleaming _Terminator 2_-esque blade sliced through the door next to Foreman's head and he fell backward, screaming. "What the hell!"

"Sorry!" Cameron said. "I said to wait for my mark!" she told someone else beyond the door before adding, "You're not hurt, are you?"

"I'm probably having a heart attack!"

"Don't be such a baby. Ok, do it now!"

The doors screeched open as something ripped them apart, and they found a gleaming, five-foot high droid staring at them. Owen added his voice to Foreman's screams before Cameron stepped out from behind it and patted it on the leg. "This is our friend," Cameron said. Chase was perched on top of the droid's substantial body, and he waved at them.

"Hello," he said. "It appears I got knocked out and just woke up. Have I missed anything?"

"The power went out," Owen said, stepping out of the lift. Foreman followed closely, which was a good thing as two seconds later, the cable snapped and the car plummeted back down to ground level.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Cameron said. "I blew up the power generator, and the blast must have damaged the infrastructure."

"You _blew up_ the power generator?" Owen repeated incredulously.

"Yeah. C4 charges."

Owen's jaw dropped. "You know, Dr. Cameron, as much as I hate you for nearly killing me just now, I have to hand it to you. You're doing pretty damn good."

"Joey," Chase said.

Everyone turned to him, and Owen wondered if his brain had been addled when he was knocked out, however that had come about, but Chase just gave them a sheepish smile and said, "Can I call it Joey? I've always wanted a baby kangaroo."

"That is not a kangaroo," Foreman said, eyeing the droid with suspicion.

"But it likes me," Chase said, rubbing the top of its body. "Who's a good girl? _You are_, yes you are."

"We should find the others," Cameron said.

"Yeah," Foreman replied, backing away from Chase as though he had some incurable and highly contagious disease. "Let's do that."

--

"Wow, I can't believe we got out of that!" said Wilson as they walked out of the now collapsed and softly smoking shack. 

Ianto pulled a stray needle out of his bum with a wince. "I thought we were goners for sure," he said. "There were at least fifteen armed mouse aliens and only two of us!"

"How _did_ we get out of it again?" Wilson asked after a brief pause, sounding a little puzzled. 

"Do you know, I can't quite remember," said Ianto. 

Wilson shrugged dismissively. "Now what?" he said. Ianto didn't get to answer because he hadn't been watching where he was walking and he'd stepped onto a giant circular section of floor that had turned out to be slowly rotating in place. He yelped in surprise, lost his balance, and fell. Wilson shushed him urgently. There were mouse soldiers all over the place and loud noises could easily attract them.

Ianto got onto all fours and crawled quietly off the moving section of floor. Then he stood up and grimaced at the white stains of who-knew-what on the knees of his trousers. He and Wilson turned together and crept determinedly in the opposite direction of the moving floor, keeping watchful eyes on the ground.

They barely got five feet. There was a massive clanging noise as something big and metal smashed to the ground behind them right where they had been standing. They froze. They turned around. Whatever it was, it probably weighed over a ton. 

"_Where the hell did that come from_?" Wilson squeaked. 

"Ah HAH!" came a triumphant voice from just to their right. "We've found you!" Mouse soldiers scurried in from all sides and surrounded them, pointing rifles in their direction.

"What do we do? What do we do?" said Wilson. 

"I don't know!" Ianto replied. Wilson thought frantically. 

"Quick! Start singing Tchaikovsky!" he said.

"What?" said Ianto. 

"Just do it! You never know!" With that he started belting out the first several notes of the _Overture_ from _The Nutcracker_. Ianto, uncomprehending but seeing no better alternatives, joined in, trying to cover parts that Wilson couldn't manage. It was difficult to vocalize a piece of classical music written for a full orchestra with only two people who each only had a passing familiarity with the composition, but they managed something that sounded decent. There was quite a lot of noise happening around them, so they had to sing very loudly to be heard.

For a whole minute, no one moved. Then, as Ianto watched bewildered, first the alien mouse soldiers in the front and then the ones further back started to imitate what could only be described as a ballet. 

It was quite surreal, and oddly synchronized. They must have spent a lot of time studying that ballet to have the moves down so well, and more than that, to be so programmed to respond to it. 

Nearly fifty oddly-dressed aliens danced on all sides as the two of them hummed out notes as best they could. Five minutes had passed before Wilson nudged Ianto with his elbow and motioned toward a break in the circle. They began slowly, carefully edging towards it. Giant combat boots that had never been intended for anything approaching ballet tiptoed gracefully around them. 

Wilson ran into a large section of the music he couldn't remember enough to improvise through and segued clumsily into _The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy_. Ianto followed his lead as best he could. The aliens never missed a beat. 

They were almost there... Almost there... So close--

"WHAT! Is going on here!" boomed a new voice. It was so deep it seemed almost to be on the edge of what you could actually hear and what you could only feel. It was loud in the sense that the sound of it got everywhere, but not in the piercing, obvious way most sounds do. 

The crowd of pirouetting soldiers parted near the massive block of metal and the figure that entered was a match for the voice in every way. This alien had also taken his cues from humans and _The Nutcracker_ for his form, but he had taken everything to a whole new level. 

Ianto and Wilson were staring directly at a nine-foot-tall Count Drosselmeyer. 

He towered over them, resplendent in his obscenely decorated nineteenth century suit and coat with gold trimming, an extravagant white cravat, and huge black boots that somehow, absurdly, had snow caked around the soles. He even carried a small nutcracker in one hand and had an ornamental epee strapped around his waist. 

Wilson didn't waste any time. They were close enough, he reasoned, so he grabbed Ianto's sleeve and tugged hard as he ducked through the gap in the soldiers and ran for his life. He didn't even notice until he was safely hidden behind some sort of sinister machine that he'd tugged a little too hard and taken Ianto's sleeve with him instead of Ianto himself.

"Shit," he muttered. He peeked around the corner of the machine and saw Ianto being marched off with the rest of the soldiers, led by Drosselmeyer, who by now looked a little embarrassed by their impromptu dance routine, insofar as an alien mouse soldier can look embarrassed, at any rate.

_Now what?_ Wilson wondered.

--

Thunderous explosions rattled the walls of the storage room as Jack, House and Cuddy prepared to exit. House tried to stop Jack from opening the doors by screaming "_Halt! HALT!_" in his brain, but Jack ignored him and did it anyway. A scene of chaos greeted them as assembly lines ground to a halt, broken machinery sent pieces of metal spewing up in fountains and streams of molten metal poured from broken conduits. Fires engulfed massive portions of the factory, and unsavory smells drifted up from the sewage processing portion of the plant. Jack decided to shut the door.

_See? You should have just listened to me from the start,_ House thought to him.

"Shut up!" Jack snapped out loud. Cuddy jumped.

"No one said anything!" she said, clutching her chest.

"Yeah," House said, crossing his arms at him.

"Shut up," Jack repeated, giving House a shove for good measure. The lights went out, and Cuddy stared at Jack for a few seconds as though wondering if he had any other latent psychic issues he hadn't told her about. A second glance outside the door showed every piece of machinery had ground to a halt, and Jack nodded. "Someone took out the power. The factory is fairly compromised, so I think it might be a good idea for us to focus on getting everyone out of here now."

"Maybe, but why don't you figure out how to undo this link first?" House said, shaking the alien artifact at him.

"Stop being selfish. It's not like I enjoy having you in my head either, but we'll have time to sort that out once everybody is safe."

"Jack's right," Cuddy said.

"No one asked for your opinion," House said, slamming the base of his cane against the ground for emphasis. "In fact, everyone who is not wearing underwear does not get a vote!"

Jack and Cuddy both glared at him, though not before Cuddy instinctively glanced at Jack and turned beet red. Jack flashed her a grin, and at the same time, an explosion took out part of the room and sent Cuddy falling as the floor beneath her collapsed. Jack rushed over and saw Cuddy hanging onto some exposed piping a meter below.

"Help me!" she screamed.

House jabbed Jack. "You are no longer allowed to smile at women. Clearly they do not have the presence of mind to avoid spontaneously combusting when you do so."

"Are you acknowledging my amazing sex appeal?" Jack asked.

"Stop flirting and find a way to get me back up there!" Cuddy yelled. "If I end up saving myself, I will beat you with this pipe."

"Women." House rolled his eyes. "We tell them to take control of their bodies and they freak out."

Cuddy began swinging her legs, hoping to throw herself in range of the lattice holding up the storage room. Overhead, a damaged furnace creaked and broke apart, falling straight toward her. 

"Grab my ankles and brace yourself!" Jack ordered House.

"What? I am not--"

"Now!" Without waiting for him to follow the order, Jack took a flying leap off the edge and House barely missed him as he grabbed one of his feet while hooking his cane around the base of one of the racks nailed to the wall. A missile flew past Jack's head as he fell toward Cuddy and blasted into the furnace, setting off a massive detonation whose shockwave caused the piping to snap. Cuddy began falling, but Jack doubled over and climbed past House in a flash of the eye, pulling the doctor back into the room and tossing his cane down after Cuddy. She caught it as it flew past her and used the extra reach to grab the lattice, slamming into it as the cane caught.

Almost a minute of silence passed as they all gasped for air, and then Cuddy yelled, "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Climb back up!" Jack said. She was a long way down, but he knew she was rolling her eyes.

"Easier said than done!"

"Would you please get off me?" House snarled. "Your crotch is dangerously near my face."

Jack glanced down and saw that in the chaos, he had indeed ended on top of House. He grinned. "Your crotch is dangerously near my face." The words were the same but meant something completely different out of his mouth.

House sniffed. "Tell me, why do you smell better the more we run for our lives in a hot and sweat-inducing environment? I ask, of course, purely out of medical curiosity."

"Sure you do." Jack didn't move. "It's 51st century pheromones. They'll get to just about anything remotely humanoid, so when it's with an actual human and my chemistry gets pumping, well... anything could happen."

"I don't think so. Wilson!"

The door creaked as it swung open, revealing Wilson. "House, thank god!" he said, obviously having heard the man call his name. "Just earlier I was-- naked! Oh my god."

House shoved Jack off him and sat up, eyeing Wilson up and down. "You're fully dressed. That means you _gained_ clothing today, which certainly bucks the trend. Congratulations."

"No, no!" Wilson said, shielding his eyes with his arm. "I mean, _why is Captain Jack naked?_"

"So you weren't naked earlier then." Jack injected as much disappointment into his voice as possible.

Wilson glared, then realized this entailed looking at his nude form and averted his eyes to House instead. "No, I was chased by aliens earlier and got lost."

"Stop picturing me naked," House snapped. Wilson switched his gaze back to Jack, groaned and then covered his face with his hands.

"I find it wisest to feel flattered when someone declares their undying love for you," Jack advised House.

"It was not undying!" Wilson protested. "I did not say anything about undying!"

"I agree," House said. "After the events of the last two days, it'd be best if zombies and vampires did not get involved as well."

"The last thing we need is another competitor for BRAIN." Jack settled into a comfortable position on the floor, which involved leaning back and spreading his legs. "Actually, since we're waiting for Cuddy to get back, I think we should work through some issues between you to."

"What issues? That he's a doormat who lets me walk all over him, and I have no scruples about taking advantage of that?"

"No, but you're clearly in denial about wanting him back."

"I haven't lost him."

"I didn't mean that." Jack set him a dirty image through their mind-link to make sure House couldn't dodge the issue. House frowned aggressively at him.

"Look, House is right," Wilson said. "If you're trying to start a threesome or something like that--"

Jack frowned. "I was trying to get you two into a somewhat functional relationship, but if that's what it'll take, you won't see me complaining."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Stay away from me!" House moved to brandish his cane at Jack before realizing he no longer had one. Jack, meanwhile, took advantage of the situation to shimmy across the floor and pull House in for a kiss. "Wow, no sex for two weeks, Dr. House? No wonder you're feeling a bit desperate."

Wilson choked. "Ignore him," House snapped, pushing Jack away. "He's making stuff up."

"Mind link," Jack said, miming strings between his head and House's. "Does fantastic things for anyone with psychic training and an interest in voyeurism. I mean, I know he's been browsing through my back catalog of steamy encounters and he's definitely not picky about whether they involve females."

"Lies!"

"Dr. Wilson has a very nice bottom," Jack said. "Give it a feel."

Wilson began making squeaking noises. They ignored him, though for different reasons. Jack knew House was trying to close him out, but he'd been going easy on the man until now and keeping the link working did not come anywhere near his mental limit. But he did find House fascinating. He was a man intent upon keeping himself miserable, and Jack wasn't sure even House knew why.

"My sex life is perfectly satisfactory."

"With women, yes, oh that one's gorgeous. But maybe you don't find your sex life complete with only women."

"What a fascinating insight, Dr. Phil."

"And face it. If you're ever going to have a long term relationship, Wilson's the only one who'll put up with you. Cuddy might put out, but it'll take time, and you'd grate on her."

"You've only known us for--"

Jack slapped him on the back. "You're many things, House, but you're not stupid, so stop pretending to be. This kiss, it's going to get between the two of you and there'll be a long period of awkwardness followed by mad, hot sex and then more awkwardness before you decide never to see each other again or get in a relationship. I'm just trying to speed up the process."

"Never see each other again?" Wilson coughed.

"And discussing this with a naked man who hunts aliens is not awkward or weird at all," House replied as though they were discussing baseball statistics.

"I fail to see how hunting aliens contributes to the awkwardness."

"If I have sex with Wilson, will you shut up?"

Wilson threw up his hands. "Jack, I know you mean well, but this is not the way I imagined my first time would go."

"You've been imagining a first time with me?" House asked, sounding amused and intrigued at the same time. "Aww, were there flowers?"

"There definitely weren't missiles in a sewage processing plant!"

"Was I there?" Jack asked.

A long silence which implied yes.

"Well, that's the only detail that matters." Jack pulled Wilson over and kissed both men, one after another. "All right, now your turn."

Wilson and House looked deep into each other's eyes, though Jack felt like he was watching two dogs ready to maul each other rather than two people in lust.

"I'm only doing this to shut Jack up," House said.

"Whatever keeps you going," Wilson replied dismissively. Then his eyebrows shot up. "Wait, no! I didn't mean it like that!"

"I'm hoping it'll shut you up too," House said, and then he pulled his friend over and their lips met. Jack barely managed to keep the thought, _God, it's never been this difficult before_ from interrupting House.

--

Tosh ducked as the rocket launcher discharged, and the back of her hair caught fire as the missile rushed past. Unfazed, she launched herself head first at the alien, smothering the flames and knocking it off balance at the same time. Three chops at what passed for its head and the creature slumped backward into a stupor. Missiles burned across the factory like a swarm of angry bees, but none seemed headed her way, so she ignored them and ran along the walkway, searching for another way up, for now she knew that was the direction Howell had gone.

The end of the walkway led into another transmat station. Half the consoles were no longer working, and a quick diagnostic informed her no power was coming from the generators. The transmat itself and the main computers continued operating on back-up battery power, but that would fail within ten uses.

There was no way to scan for her colleagues now that the equipment was down, but the sensors on the surface remained functional and told her the aliens were airlifting in the big guns. "I suppose it's too much to hope there's a self-destruct button," she muttered.

"Indeed, it is." She spun around in time to see Howell exit from the transmat, gun in his hand. "You don't mind me dropping in, do you? Oh, and any move I don't ask for from you, and I shoot you in the head, so drop all your weapons and turn around."

Seeing no alternative, Tosh obeyed. Howell had a manic glint in his eye that reminded her of Suzie, and that was more than enough to gain compliance from her. Besides, the others had done a good job of shutting the factory down so far.

"So now what?"

Howell grabbed her shirt collar and pulled her backward with him. "Now we wait for your friends."

--

Ianto watched the Count Drosselmeyer alien send most of his mouse troops away to different parts of the factory as they marched along the floor, avoiding remnants of mass destruction and taking occasional detours to avoid collapsed stairs and such, when necessary. 

"Where are you taking me?" he asked calmly after a few minutes of this.

"Not far!" boomed Drosselmeyer in his almost impossibly deep voice. The sound reverberated around the cavernous factory, even despite the crashes, bangs, and yells coming from all around. 

"Er, what are you going to do with me?" Ianto tried.

"I can't tell you that!" boomed Drosselmeyer.

"Well, what can you tell me?"

"You know, I prefer it when my prisoners don't talk!" boomed Drosselmeyer conversationally. Ianto felt another headache coming on, this one merely piling on top of the one he already had. He was getting fed up.

"I'd really like to know what's going to happen to me," he said.

"Too bad!" Drosselmeyer boomed.

"Stop booming already!" 

"No can do!" More booming.

Ianto saw that the platform they were walking along was soon going to end, quite fatally. _Bugger_, he thought to himself. _Don't tell me that I'm going to die because some alien into cosplay made me walk the plank in the middle of sewage plant. What a way to go._

--

Sweat soaked through every garment on her as Cuddy clambered the last few feet and pulled herself over the railing to lie panting on the platform in front of the storage shed. "You sure you couldn't have climbed down and carried me, Jack?" she shouted. No one answered. If they had left without her...

Back on her feet, she threw open the door and screamed when she realized what she was seeing. "Oh my god! What are you doing?"

"Pheromones," House replied.

"Want to join in?" Jack asked with a grin.

Cuddy took one look at the burning factory then stepped inside, sighed, and pushed several heavy crates in front of the door to block it. "Oh, if I _must_."

--

"We're stuck," Owen said.

He stood with Foreman and Cameron around the droid, Joey, while Chase sat on top, but all of them were examining the map it projected of the factory. As far as they could tell, every exit from the room they were in had been blocked by one explosion or another, which meant they were stuck waiting for Jack or House to come rescue them. There was only one conclusion to draw.

"We're screwed," Foreman said.

"Stop being pessimistic," Cameron snapped.

"Face it, is there anyone we can count on but ourselves?"

Owen jabbed a finger at the map. "There, is that a transmat room?"

Joey bobbed up and down, causing Chase to cheer as though he were a rodeo cowboy.

Cameron touched him on the shoulder. "We don't know how to use a transmat. Tosh used that wristband last time, remember?"

"Hey, if Tosh can figure it out, I'm sure I might get lucky."

"Lucky?" Foreman said. "Have you been very lucky so far?" To add emphasis to the remark, Owen's left hand lifted up and slapped him lightly across the face. Owen retaliated by punching Foreman out with his right.

"Stop it!" Cameron grabbed him before he could follow up with a second blow, and she was quite strong in Chase's body. He sat back, one punch having been enough anyway. Foreman groaned but lay still, though Owen could see his eyes move behind his eyelids.

"Hey, Cameron. If we get out of this alive, do you want to fuck?"

To her credit, she barely blinked. "Flowers would be nice, first. Maybe a date, dinner..."

"Terminal illness," Chase added.

Owen grinned. "Since you haven't said no, I assume you're going to say yes."

"To a date," Cameron replied firmly. "Why not? Though I'd like to know why now."

"First time we've talked without someone trying to kill us or us trying to kill each other. I take it as a good sign in the evolution of our relationship."

"Only the fittest survive? That's a great metaphor for love."

"How else do you explain your high divorce rate?"

"I have one condition."

"Oh god. I will not wear a dress."

Cameron nearly doubled over. "Has someone actually requested that before?"

"University. Let's just say I'm not planning to elaborate."

"Well, that's going to be a problem. What I was going to say was that now I know the secret about your job, there's nothing about your past that you can claim immunity about, correct?"

"If you're expecting a life story in one night, well, let's just say even recounting the one night stands would take longer than that."

"Experience won't impress Cameron," Chase interjected.

"I'm just saying, if I ask a question, you have to answer. Fair?"

"No, it's not fair, but I agree."

"Works for me. Foreman, stop feigning unconsciousness. We should try that transmat."

"It's too late," Foreman groaned without opening his eyes. "That inane conversation has caused irreparable nerve damage."

Owen grabbed Foreman's left hand and forced him to respond as he pulled him into a standing position. "Come on. The factory might blow up any moment."

The journey to the control room was uneventful. At one point, a cave-in blocked off the hall, but Joey swept the debris aside as though it was dust.

"All right, everyone get on the pad in case I activate something on accident," Owen said.

"Isn't that a good reason _not_ to stand in the way?" Foreman objected.

"A transmat can't malfunction, and since it's hooked into a grid, the worst that'll happen is you end up on another pad, but there's only so much power left. I'd guess five teleports remain before the batteries fail, so let's not waste them."

"Joey, do we have any alternatives?"

The droid turned into a whiteboard again, scribbling: "I can climb out."

"How many can you carry?"

"One at a time."

"Even one less reduces the strain on the transmat," Owen said. "At worst, we can take turns."

The others agreed and Joey set off with Chase while Foreman and Cameron took their places on the pad. Owen fiddled with the controls and typed commands in like: "Activate" and "Engage!" He was disappointed it didn't work, as it usually did in television shows. This was hyper-advanced technology! It was supposed to be simple to operate.

"Owen, why's there a light blinking?" Cameron said.

"There's lots of lights blinking!"

"No, I mean on the machine itself. Come here and look."

Owen walked over and saw she was pointing at the ceiling above the pad. Standing beside her, he followed her finger to see a single red LCD blinking.

"It just started," Foreman said.

"Well, I'd guess it's a warning."

"Of what?"

"Maybe something's draining the batteries..." Owen paused, and they all heard electronics powering up.

"Or someone's activating the transmat from the other side!" Foreman exclaimed. "Everyone off!"

There was a mad rush off the pad, with Foreman and Owen shoving each other out of the way while Cameron simply stamped on their foot and jumped. The three of them tumbled to the ground and found themselves looking into the barrel of a gun.

"Too late," Owen said as his gaze went past the gun to meet Howell's leering grin. Behind him, Tosh sat on a chair, hands and feet tied. Shuffling in the doorway announced the entrance of several more aliens, uncamouflaged, each toting a tripod that looked capable of supporting a Hummer.

"Welcome to the party," Howell said. "Now, let's see if we can't persuade your leaders to join us."

"What are you going to do?" Owen demanded as the aliens pulled them to their feet, one to guard each human. They forced them toward the door, and as they emerged into the factory, Owen saw Ianto with his hands tied and standing on a platform before a break in the railing. An ornately and bizarrely-dressed alien stood behind him, gun nestled against the back of his head. "Oh shit." Below the platform stretched a sheer drop of hundreds of meters that ended on the factory floor, now immersed under a roiling sea of molten metal.

"Exactly," Howell said, and there was a squeal of feedback as one of his lackeys activated a PA system. His voice boomed across the seemingly endless volume of the factory, shrinking its size with its presence. "Humans, we have your colleagues. You are surrounded. Surrender in five minutes or your friends go to the steel."

--

As the four of them lay on the ground, catching their breaths, House decided there were worse situations to be in than naked between Cuddy and Wilson. _I want pizza,_ came a thought from beyond Wilson, and House glared. "Food and sex, is that all you think about?"

"Every once in a while I save the world," Harkness replied.

"Fine, you think about food, sex and large explosions."

"Well, if you're going to put it that way, all you think about is sex, drugs and people in pain."

"Don't forget rock and roll," Wilson said.

"Sometimes it's just minor discomfort," Cuddy added.

"Do you always eat like that?" House asked.

"Some of us can't hear thoughts, you know."

"Hush. Answer the question, Harkness."

"Eat like what?"

"Takeout. Pizza, Chinese, team dinners and late hours."

"Pretty much. The Rift doesn't operate by our schedule."

"What does Gwen eat at home?"

"How should I know?"

"Because ever since you hired her, you've decided you like standing on the roof outside her apartment building! I don't know why I bother--everyone lies and I just have to peek into your head."

"You need my permission."

"Do you want her diagnosed or not? I can't send anyone to break into her place in Cardiff and raid the refrigerator. Cuddy sets funds aside for when I get sued, not when I decide to annoy Interpol."

He sensed Harkness lower his defenses, like someone opening a sluice gate and letting water pour through, though in this case, the water was thoughts. He was a bear hunting fish, pawing at memories without any attempt at subtlety. There must be some pattern of behavior or early symptom that no one noticed...

Suddenly, one particular event leapt out at him, and the fish became the hunter.

"That metaphor really doesn't work," House muttered before getting swallowed whole by the memory.

"You's not taking me alive!" a voice slurred in a cockney accent. "I's got rights, I has..."

A shiny golden blur resolved itself into a robot that looked distinctly like the whiney one from _Star Wars_, although this one had a pink apron draped over its front with two baby pandas sucking on pacifiers and wielding samurai swords and the caption: "Kiss the Cook... Or Else" emblazoned across it in Comic Sans font. It wielded half a broken beer bottle in its left hand. Jack was busy extricating the remains of the other half from his neck.

"Are you all right?" Gwen asked, her aim never leaving the robot. Owen and Ianto flanked her, and they spread out to surround the droid.

"Where the hell did this thing come from?" Jack demanded as he got back up.

"Rift activity thirty minutes ago, followed by the owner of a pub reporting a disturbance in his kitchen to the police," Tosh reported through his headset. "I'm wiping their database of the call and forwarding addresses of those needing to be retconned to Ianto."

Owen flinched back as the robot turned its bottle onto him. "Yeah, but what _is_ it?"

"It appears to be a service droid. Apart from the beer bottle, there shouldn't be any weapons. Scan of circuitry indicates there isn't any hostile behavior programmed in. All aggression stems from damage in the upper right part of its head."

"Doesn't have weapons. That's all I needed to know." Owen fired once and the bottle shattered. The droid's mouth creaked open, revealing four sharp fangs, two at the top and two at the bottom. Letting the remaining shards of the bottle drop to the ground, it charged at Owen, arms swinging and teeth gnashing. "What the hell, Tosh! I thought you said it was safe!"

"The shape of the fangs indicates it was meant as a bottle opener for Minolean wine."

"Thanks!" Owen screamed as he fell to the ground under the droid's weight. He grabbed its neck, holding the fangs at bay just centimeters from his nose. "I feel a lot better knowing it wasn't _supposed_ to kill me."

Jack seized the droid under its arms and tossed it aside. It clanged against the asphalt and part of the casing on its shoulder fell off. The head slammed against the curb, and the waxing notes of a keening mezzo-soprano burst into the night.

"What the hell is that noise?" Tosh asked, and Jack could only imagine what it sounded like in the Hub, filtered through their headsets.

"Verdi's _Aida_, act four--" Ianto began.

Gwen cut him off. "If we don't get that droid to quiet down, we're going to be attracting a lot more attention than we want."

"Aw, who'll come investigating opera at one in the morning?" Owen asked.

"Masters, I just wish to please," the droid said, limbs jerking as it dragged itself off the road. The right leg kept twitching, preventing it from standing. Jack considered this a good thing. He continued to pursue a cautious approach as he inched toward where it lay, but each second suggested the machine had reached the end of its functional lifespan. "Please, masters. A little bit of repair and I am sure you will find me an excellent servant. I have references from seven different planetary systems, and I make lattes to die for."

"I've already died once and I haven't gotten any," Jack replied. He bent over to inspect the wiring under the shoulder panel that had dislodged. The droid cooperated for about half a second before disconnecting the malfunctioning leg and bashing Jack's head in with the appendage.

The second time he woke, Gwen, Ianto and Owen were all hovering above him and their target was nowhere in sight. "What the hell happened?"

"It hopped away, sir," Ianto said. "And then you got run over by a speeding car, so we had to stop our pursuit to convince the drivers you were drunk but uninjured."

"It took three of you to convince a motorist to drive away?"

"Some people want to take responsibility for their actions," Gwen protested.

Owen shook his head. "No, they were quite eager to take any excuse to leave, but some evidence is hard to ignore, like blood splattered across the entire intersection; you got dragged a fair distance."

"Well, given the circumstances, I feel fantastic," replied Jack. "Don't tell me you lost the droid."

"I'm tracking it with the CCTV network," Tosh announced, "but it's hopping at about fifty kilometers per hour, so without knowing where it's headed, it'll be hard to catch up even with the SUV."

"That's, uh, impressive..."

They headed for the SUV anyway, knowing there was no point in standing around and guessing. Jack took the wheel while Gwen buckled in beside him and Owen and Ianto took the back seats. "Tosh," Ianto said, "this thing doesn't belong to humans, does it?"

"Nothing in our database, though the teeth suggest not."

"No," Jack said. "It's from the 49th century and not made by humans."

"So it shouldn't have an opera in its memory banks. There's a broadcast of _Aida_ on Radio 3 tonight."

"It's headed in the right direction," Tosh said. "Give it a try."

"All right," Jack said as Gwen reprogrammed the GPS navigation system to direct them toward the nearest station.

_Enough of this!_ House decided, seizing control of Jack in the memory. He wondered if this would work.

"What is wrong with you?" he yelled at Gwen.

She looked at him with a puzzled expression, lips parted so that he could see the gap between her front teeth. "Sorry?"

"There's something wrong with you! This is... let's see, two weeks before you leave for Princeton, and the underlying condition for a pheochromocytoma should be present already. What is it?"

"Listen, I don't know that Cuddy should be paying you if you think you're going to get an answer this easily."

House whacked her over the head because he could get away with it in his imagination. "This is no longer Jack's mind. It's _mine_ doing all the work. I chose this memory, which means I already know what the problem is in my subconscious. So just _say it_."

"Such a temper."

"You're one to talk."

"Hey, I wasn't always like this. It's the disease that makes me throw people five meters because they looked at me cross-eyed. Come on, let's do it the fun way. You like a puzzle, so work this one out."

Somehow, he'd driven the SUV in all the right directions, intercepting the droid as it made its bid for radio stardom. Unfortunately for the droid, he wasn't paying attention to the road, and its body crunched like a sack full of peanuts under an eager elephant, but nobody noticed the development.

"The droid didn't always have a temper either."

"Yes, but why?"

"It's damaged, same as you, but that's just another symptom. The question is how it got damaged."

"Or corrupted."

"Is there a difference?"

"Maybe."

House pondered this. He wasn't an expert on robotics or physical electronics, but he knew enough to guess: "Physical trauma would damage it, but corruption can come from natural processes. There doesn't have to be a specific incident that caused it. It just is."

"Correct. Obviously, its internal diagnostics can catch many of the mistakes; after all, that's an advanced piece of technology. It will self-correct to a certain extent."

"Unless something goes wrong--"

"Yes, wouldn't that be horrible? I mean, the poor droid, aware of its original programming but unable to complete its imperatives. How must it feel?"

"Shut up. Now you're just distracting me."

"Well, just because it's a robot doesn't mean it doesn't have feelings. You're too removed, House."

"In this particular situation, feelings have nothing to do with the diagnosis, so I don't care."

"You sound just like Jack when I first met him."

House honked the horn. "Damn you, Harkness, if you can't control the impressions of your colleague, get me out of this mad hallucination! How am I supposed to think with her moralizing at me?"

"I am not moralizing!"

"Then there's no reason for you to be talking. You can't even pronounce 'emotional' without almost getting 'mushy' so stop talking to me about the robot's feelings and get back to the point."

Gwen huffed, but Ianto leaned forward from the backseat and said, "For the record, we ran over and destroyed the droid about two miles back, and you weren't too upset then, so by now, any argument about what it felt or did not feel is a bit of a moot point."

"See?" House slammed on the brakes. "Now what were we talking about?"

"Self-correction mechanisms, sir," Ianto said.

"Thank you. And now that you've corrected this conversation, you can go away."

Unlike Gwen, Ianto was quite obliging, and he slid back into the darkness that enveloped the back of the SUV and vanished.

"So if you were a robot," House told Gwen, "your self-correction mechanisms failed. But a human's self-correction programs are inscribed in their DNA. The genetic code. There are no genetic diseases in your family history that could be responsible; I know, because we actually requested records from Cardiff. That means..." And the light bulb in House's head lit up. "Oh."

Gwen winked. "Oooh."

The interior of the SUV rippled and expanded, tearing apart like a popping balloon, and House was back in the factory. He discovered he had sat up during his trip through Harkness' mind, and Harkness sat cross-legged across from him in what appeared to be a state of meditation, but his eyes opened as soon as House looked at him.

"'Oooh'?" he said. "That doesn't help."

"It does for me," House said. "I know what's wrong."

"And?"

"We need to get back to the hospital so I can confirm it."

"He always likes being dramatic when he announces a diagnosis," Wilson said.

Harkness scowled. "Fine. Get dressed and we'll move out." Unable to take his own advice, he swept out the door, leaving an awkward silence behind him.

"Well," said Wilson.

"It's too late to be having second thoughts," Cuddy told him.

"I think you're projecting your feelings onto him," House said. "After all, Wilson _looooves_ me too much to be having second thoughts, whereas you know I've just completely undermined your authority."

"Yeah, I'm sure that was foremost in your mind the whole time," Cuddy said, pulling on her blouse. "I think we all needed a little stress relief, and you know that's all this was, so bringing it up again with me will get you nowhere, House."

"Or what? You'll strangle me with your panties?"

"Or stab you with her shoe," Harkness snapped, sticking his head in through the door and gesturing for them to hurry up and follow him. "Get moving!"

"You weren't in such a rush before," Cuddy retorted, but she had dressed with astonishing speed and was out the door soon after, leaving just House and Wilson buttoning up their trousers.

"Well," Wilson repeated.

"You heard the woman. We're not allowed to talk about this again."

"But..."

"Just about everyone except yourself has suspected you have feelings for me."

"It was that obvious?"

"Yes. So now let's focus on what everyone knows about _me_."

"Oh." Wilson shifted his feet. It was quite obvious he thought a rejection was forthcoming because the idea of House saying, "I love you" in any tone other than sarcastic was, well, absurd.

"Casual sex on the other hand..."

Wilson's eyes lit up. "Oh!"

"You are pathetic, you know that?"

"And you're just afraid of appearing vulnerable." Wilson grinned. "So it's like friends with benefits."

"No, it's me doing the women of the world a social service. You don't suppose screwing you is tax-deductible, do you?"

"Given how much you owe me, people will think you're prostituting yourself."

Harkness burst in again. "Hey, love birds! Sorry to break up the quickie, but we've been found."

House limped off after him, but Wilson had been too distracted by their conversation and quickly threw on his shirt without buttoning it. He chased after them and ended up stepping on House's heel, which got him a sharp rap on the shin from his cane. House found himself regretting the reprimand, however, as the shed they'd been in evaporated in a burst of flame moments after Wilson crossed the threshold.

"What was that?" Wilson yelped.

"Wide-beam lasers," Harkness said. "Tricky to get working but devastating in just one use."

The source of the laser appeared to be several stories up from across the factory. "What's to prevent them from shooting us again?" House asked.

"Technical malfunctions, if we're lucky."

Feedback from a speaker system proved Harkness wrong as all weapons activity ceased while the alien leader monologued. "Humans," he said, "we have your colleagues. You are surrounded. Surrender in five minutes or your friends go to the steel."

"Hey, isn't that them there?" Wilson pointed. In the distance, a gathering of alien and human forms stood on a platform elevated high above the factory floor.

"Stop making it so easy for them to see us!" Cuddy hissed from behind some crates. It was too late.

"Oh, there you are," the voice continued. "All four, you say? Well, shoot them and get it over with."

House decided now was the time to start limping faster, and the three of them joined Cuddy as she headed off the platform and into a corridor shielded by thick walls. The laser struck the platform, engulfing its entirety in a cone of blue light. The metal sizzled and groaned as the structure began melting.

The beam shifted to follow them as the platform began falling apart, crashing into the floors below. House dodged behind the wall, and a door-shaped beam blasted apart everything in the rooms beyond, but the four of them were safe.

"Aaargh, what are you doing?" There were screams amidst intense feedback before the sound from the speakers steadied out again and they heard Toshiko Sato's voice cry out: "Transmat code Seven-Charlie-Alpha-Eight-Two. Hurry!"

The laser shut off and House peered out past the fizzling door frame to see the figures on the distant platform now struggling. It looked like the prisoners had gotten loose, and one tall man, whom he guessed to be Ianto Jones, was about to be pushed over the ledge when he head-butted his alien captor and slipped past him, shoving the creature off the edge in his stead. Sato was being dragged away from the far wall, where the PA system must be located, and four other figures in the middle were being herded away from the fray.

"Quick," House reported, "they're going to try moving the prisoners now that we know where they are."

"They also know where we are," Cuddy said.

Harkness grabbed Wilson, the person closest to him, and set off running down the hall. "Hurry. I can't operate the transmat, so we have to be on the pad by the time the aliens try to teleport over!" Their shoes squelched against the ground, leaving chunks of rubber as they ran. House got an idea and pressed his cane against the ground, hoping the "World's Grandma" sticker would melt off. Instead, the entire length caught fire and melted.

"Shoot."

"You idiot," Cuddy said. She grabbed a nearby office chair and wheeled it over. "Here."

"What's this supposed to be?"

"A walker, now move it!"

They caught up with Harkness and Wilson in the transmat station, where Harkness was busy entering data into the computers.

"I thought you didn't know how to use it," Cuddy said.

"I don't have the access codes," Harkness said. "But what I _can_ do is change it so that this transmat station always teleports to the one Tosh specified."

"But if the aliens don't come from that station..."

"Three stations will swap occupants rather than just two, but the principle works the same. All right, I've got it. Everyone on board!"

The room flickered, and they were there. Rushing out of the room, the platform was empty, but it was definitely the one the hostages had been on, because House could see the tortured remains of their platform still crumpling and dripping.

"They must have used the same trick as us." Harkness groaned.

"Not a very good choice, then, for a trick." Cuddy pointed up, and about twenty floors directly above them, aliens and humans were flying in every direction as an all-out brawl erupted. Most importantly, the stairs between that floor and theirs was intact.

"I am not climbing up those," House said.

Wilson put up his hands. "I'm not carrying you."

"Go and sit on the transmat," Harkness ordered. "When we rescue everyone, I'll program this one and the one above to go to two pads in Drumthwacket. Stay on it, don't make noise and you should be fine. Actually, for that matter, all three of you stay."

Cuddy shook her head. "I have employees up there too. But Wilson can stay."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're about as useless in a fight as a cripple," House said. He contemplated himself for a moment and amended: "Actually, you're even more useless." Without waiting for additional protest, he threw Wilson into the office chair and wheeled him away. He paused at the doorway and removed the alien artifact from his pocket. "Harkness, will this work at long range?"

Harkness nodded. "I believe it can reverse effects without all parties being present." 

"Well, in that case..." House tossed the artifact over, and Cuddy ducked behind the staircase as Harkness caught it. They began leaving, but House decided to add: "Good luck. And... be careful."

Cuddy smiled. "That must have been hard for you to say."

"Just go!"

"You take care too, House."

--

Tosh slammed her wrists against the jagged edge of broken railing, severing the cords binding her hands together. She spun as Howell lunged for her and pushed him aside. To her right, Cameron and Owen stood back-to-back, wielding cables like lassos, while Foreman held the arm of a chair, ready to knock out anyone the other two caught.

Ianto rushed to her side. "Even the ones not disguised are still carrying biofeedback mechanisms around their necks," he said, pointing at the nearest alien. "Last time, we overloaded them with an electromagnetic pulse."

"There's nothing to power such a blast!"

"On the contrary," Ianto said, "they've brought in what we need."

There were three laser cannons nearby, mounted on tripods and all still aimed at where Jack had been. The aliens in charge of aiming them were embroiled in the battle, and even as they watched, Cameron roped one in and pulled it close for Foreman to knock out. She jerked a little too hard on the cable, though, and sent the alien plunging over the edge. She dropped it before the twisting coils could burn her hands, but a cry from Owen revealed they'd been using opposite ends of the same cord. The loop he'd had around his arm tightened and sent him staggering off the platform, but Cameron grabbed him just in time, spinning him about so that the cable could continue its plunge taking any more people with it.

Ianto ran to the vacancy and gave her a thumbs up. "Jack's wristband can interface with the power." She hurried over and began programming.

As she worked, Howell charged them, but Ianto kicked at the next laser over, sending it tumbling across the ground toward him. The attorney general tripped but kept rolling toward them. "I've got it!" Tosh said and activated the device. A loud crack snapped through the air and sparks flew from the battery pack, but all around, aliens went down, and howls of pain filled the air, soon replaced with silence as the blast spread through the factory.

Owen, Foreman and Cameron ran over, cheering. Jack and Cuddy emerged from the stairway, dripping with sweat and out of breath as they climbed the last flight. "Well, looks like you got things sorted out," Jack said.

"Why are you naked, sir?" Ianto asked, a touch of irritation in his voice. Tosh looked over and saw his brows furrowed.

"He fell into one of the vats earlier," Tosh said quickly. "My fault."

"Yeah, see if I give you a pay raise ever again," Jack said, grinning a bit. "Well, actually, I will if you manage to get this working." He flourished his hands and revealed the alien artifact, the original one they'd come from Cardiff to find. Tosh took it from him, cradling it as though it were a poisonous snake.

"What makes you think I can figure it out?" Tosh asked.

"You're a genius."

Tosh felt a brief spurt of pride at Jack's faith in her, but it was quickly overwhelmed by panic. She fought it down as she focused on what Ianto had told her about the other device. The device she'd found with Monty... _No, don't think of him!_ She stared it. _Think of what you want it to do._ Pointing the device at Foreman and Owen, she focused on their arms and thought, _Reverse!_

A silence that muffled everything, literally a deafening silence, and Foreman and Owen shut their eyes when they saw what she was attempting to do. Cracking open one eye, Owen lifted his left hand, and everyone waited on tenterhooks before he said, "It worked!"

Foreman opened his eyes and waved both hands around. "Yes! It worked!" he exclaimed, pulling Owen into a hug before freezing and backing away.

"Not to spoil the mood, but where are House and Wilson?" Cameron asked.

"Downstairs," Cuddy replied. "And Chase?"

"Looking for an exit. He, uh, adopted one of the spider robots and named it Joey."

Cuddy's eyebrows shot up, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she just leaned against the railing and looked out across the ruins of the factory.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Tosh asked Jack.

"I hope not. All the electronics in the device indicate it has a long range."

"I'll try to be prepared for anything," Cameron said, closing her eyes. Tosh pointed it at her and pictured both Cameron and Chase in her mind. _Reverse!_

Chase's body shuddered, and he screamed. "What the hell! Why's everything gone dark?" He had an Australian accent.

Cuddy sighed. "Open your eyes."

He did so. "That's silly; why were they closed? They weren't closed earlier. I... _wait!_" His hands shot to his chest. "I'm not top-heavy anymore!"

"I hope you weren't engaged in anything dangerous."

"No, but I think I found a way out. Joey should be able to fill Cameron in."

As Tosh pointed the device at Jack, Ianto asked, "What are we going to do about this, sir?" He waved a hand to indicate the entire factory. "If we damage the infrastructure any further, the gardens above will collapse, but if we leave anything at all intact, the government might try to salvage the technology."

"The aliens might too," said Owen.

"Oh believe me, we will," Howell said. Tosh had enough time to spin around in surprise before Howell grabbed her, knocking the artifact out of her hand and stealing her gun. Placing it against her temple, he backed away from the others. Jack screamed as he dove for the artifact, and Tosh didn't think she'd ever heard him so high-pitched before. It rolled off the platform before he could reach it, and he stared in horror as it dropped toward the factory floor, no platforms or other equipment in place to save it from total destruction.

Tosh decided she had more pressing concerns than Jack's alien problem. "How are you alive?" she gasped, struggling against Howell's grip even with his threat of the gun pressed to her head.

"You think I didn't know about your little EMP trick in the hospital?" Globs of spittle poured down onto her as he spoke, his entire body quivering. "The others didn't respond to the threat. We have so much _bureaucracy_ sometimes. But I took initiative and shielded my own device, and you idiots should've noticed when my disguise didn't fail even though I feigned death."

The two of them stopped behind one of the lasers, and Tosh realized what he intended. "Don't just listen to him! Do something!" she yelled. Howell pushed her head forward, slamming her forehead against the barrel of the device.

"Shut up!" he roared. "All of you back away or I shoot her."

"I propose a trade!" Jack said, scrambling away from the railing. "Me for her. She's just an employee, but I lead Torchwood. You want them to follow orders, you should take me as hostage instead."

"Oh, and you're just such a bleeding heart that you'll give up your life for her? No, if there's going to be any trade, I want Jones."

Ianto glared. "What did I ever do to you? Well, besides the obvious."

"Isn't the obvious enough? Now all you, _do as I say_!"

As they retreated, Howell aimed the laser and flicked a few switches so that it began powering up. "No!" Tosh screamed, knocking the gun away by lowering her head and swinging her shoulder up. Howell tried to shoot her but missed. Jack threw himself backward, forcing everyone behind him to fall off the landing and down the stairs, putting them outside the laser's radial range. He miscalculated, however, and Ianto fell against the railing instead of down the stairs. Before he could get up, Howell swiveled the laser over and fired.

A black blur flashed before her and the lights went wild as the barrel rotated, knocking Howell backward. The air filled with streaks of blue and purple before the laser shut off, but when her vision cleared, she saw the weapon had fired upward instead. A large piece of the ceiling collapsed amidst a shower of dirt, and the destruction cascaded outward as girders buckled under the increased strain.

Her gaze shifted downward to find what had knocked off Howell's aim, and she saw Monty collapsed on the ground before her.

"Monty!" She kneeled down to examine him. His face was flushed and his clothes were wet with blood. "What happened? I thought--"

"Had to get to you," he whispered. "Tell you I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for. Is this blood yours?"

"No. Mrs. Streed's. Killed her."

Hands closed around her neck, and Howell said, "Well done, Pike." Tosh stiffened, but Monty shifted and pressed something smooth into her hand. She ran her fingers along it and found it to be a sharp pair of scissors. The blades dug into Howell's arm, and he screamed, falling backward. Tosh threw herself to the floor and rolled within range of the gun Howell had dropped when he lost control of the laser. She aimed and fired three shots into his chest, followed by one to the neck, where she assumed he kept his biofeedback device. He crumpled to the ground, and Tosh rushed back to Monty.

"It's all right," she said, checking his breathing and the wound on his arm. "It's over, and we can get you to the hospital within half an hour. Everything will be all right."

Monty nodded and gave her a weak smile. "I was so afraid you were dead."

"People, we have a problem," Jack said, and Tosh saw he was running over from the transmat room.

"What is it?" Tosh asked.

"Well, when your boyfriend transmatted over here--not that I'm not grateful he saved all our lives--he used the last of the power reserves. It was a three-way switch, so House and Wilson are back in Drumthwacket, but the rest of us can't escape that way anymore."

The rumbling from the botanical gardens crashing down through the factory was almost deafening, and Tosh could see they would be swamped by mud and foliage within a minute. Further down, the growing fires had reached a stash of oil barrels, sending up massive blasts and plumes of black smoke.

"Tosh, watch out!" Ianto yelled.

She instinctively swung around to face Howell, but he still lay where he'd fallen. He was alive though, and his chest heaved as he chuckled deep, gurgling laughs. A red light flashed by his neck. "The self-destruct mechanism!" exclaimed Jack, leaping over Monty and kicking Howell heavily off the edge.

For three seconds, it seemed he'd eliminated the threat, but then a thundering blast shook the platform and the floor slanted down into a sharp forty-five degree angle. Tosh clung onto the railing before realizing Monty was too weak to react. He rolled toward the drop, clawing feebly at the floor, and Tosh didn't stop to think before letting go and sliding after him. He went over the edge, but she grabbed his hand as he tumbled down, and she felt his fingers close around her wrist. She kept sliding until pressure around her ankle halted their descent. She looked over her shoulder to see Jack holding onto her. Ianto had Jack's leg in one hand and a coil of cable in the other, and Chase, Cuddy and Owen were safe on the stable part of the platform, tugging at the rope with all their might.

"All right, pull!" Ianto said. Tosh felt herself dragged upward several centimeters, but the platform buckled further, and she nearly lost her grip as the floor dropped away. She fell with it, getting the breath knocked out of her as she slammed back against the platform. "Come on, faster!" Ianto managed to plant one foot onto solid ground and add his strength to the efforts of those above.

"No, stop!" Jack yelled. Tosh felt his grip slide, and her shoe slipped halfway off her foot. "I'm losing her. Ianto, loosen up a little and let me see if I can't get a better hold."

"I can't, sir!" Ianto protested. "Your leg is too sweaty. If I let go any further, we'll lose all three of you."

"Tosh," said Monty. "We're too heavy."

"Speak for yourself," she retorted, forcing out a laugh. "I'm on a diet."

Monty shook his head. "I _am_ speaking for myself."

She stared into his eyes, glistening with fever, then looked down to see the glowing red fate that awaited them. "No, you're not thinking clearly."

"There's no choice."

"No!" she screamed. The bones in her wrist felt like snapping, and she was still weak from her climb earlier. Half the strength keeping them together came from Monty, and she knew the choice to fall was his. She had to convince him. "I've already lost you once, Monty Pike, and I went to hell for it. Do you want to do that to me again?"

"I'm sorry."

"Pull, Ianto! Do it now, damn you, before this fool of a man gets himself killed!" The sharpness in her voice shocked Ianto into responding without thinking, and her shoe went flying. It clanked twice against the platform and dropped past Monty. Jack howled and lunged for her, closing both hands around the tip of her foot. She heard something crack.

"You're going to fall!" he roared.

Tosh ignored him, trying to focus on Monty through the blur of her tears. She must not cry or he would give up. She couldn't cry, not if this was the last glimpse of him she would ever have. She shook her head, but the salty drops poured from her eyes anyway. A drop or two fell onto him, mixing with the sweat glistening on his forehead. But there was no choice, and she knew it. "I love you, Monty," she cried, knowing it was the wrong thing to say to make him stay and also knowing it was the only right thing she could say.

"I love you," he replied, and he let go.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. One moment she was watching him shrink into the distance, the molten sea so impossibly large in her field of sight that it seemed a mere backdrop, a moving painting he would never reach. She felt sure that if she kept watching him fall, he would never hit the surface, but then darkness descended upon her as Jack dragged her away. She blinked, pupils expanding to adjust to the new level of light, and it seemed the moment before never existed, so sharp was the contrast between them. Its only legacy was the pain in her chest, so sharp she felt sure that if she looked down, she would see cracks running across a breaking body.

"Let me go!" she heard herself screaming, and she realized distantly that she was fighting the very people that had saved her. Cuddy had lines of blood on her face from where she'd scratched her, and Owen lay on the ground, clutching his side. She must have kicked him, but she didn't remember.

Drifts of dust reached them as the roof continued falling. They had maybe fifteen seconds left, and then she remembered Jack's words. "Do you know how to get out of here?" she asked. Jack shook his head, and she laughed. So maybe she hadn't abandoned Monty after all.

"Well, you might not, but I do!" One floor above them, a bulldozer rumbled into view, and a spider droid loped by its side. Cameron waved at them from the driver's seat. "Come on! Room for all!"

Jack pulled her into his arms and lifted her off the ground. "Sorry, but you're going to have to survive this one," he whispered. She clung to him as he carried her up the stairs and into the bulldozer. Cameron slammed the engine into gear, and they charged up a ramp, clouds of flame and dirt racing them toward the surface. Columns of fire shot hundreds of meters into the sky, overwhelming the first rays of dawn as they burst through a service entrance onto a stretch of dark green lawn.

The others cheered. Cameron leapt out of her seat to hug Chase as she exclaimed, "We made it! We survived! But god, I hurt everywhere!" She slapped him.

Cuddy gave Ianto a high-five. He smiled sheepishly at Jack afterward, but then he looked at Tosh and his face fell. He began saying something, but she turned away, burying her face in Jack's chest and letting the tears flow as her heart shattered in the line of duty yet again.

--

By the time they returned to the hospital several hours later to find Gwen sleeping, it was so late at night that it was early in the morning. They had picked up House and Wilson along the way, and House was in the middle of yet another explosive tirade against Jack about failing to rescue the device before Tosh could reverse its effects, having begun one the moment they came in sight in the mansion and pausing only to breathe and eat a bag of chips from a vending machine in the hospital cafeteria.

"You know what?" Cuddy said. "Shut up! If the mind-link is still working, then yell at Jack in _his_ head. Stop annoying the rest of us."

Ianto agreed but decided it more polite not to voice the fact. Cuddy seemed quite capable on her own and was not the oppressed administrator she'd been when he first met her. Whatever suppressed rage she'd carried around before had been unbottled by recent events, and Ianto didn't think even House would cross her. Not until she calmed down, anyway.

"I'm not going into his mind," House replied. "Every time I go into his mind, I find him picturing me or Wilson naked. Having sex with you was an awful idea, Harkness. Oh, _whoops_, you were hoping Jones wouldn't find out about that, weren't you? Silly me, not reading your mind closely enough."

"What?" Ianto said. He made an effort to keep his voice quiet, but everyone stared at him as though he'd used a megaphone to declare that he ate babies. He was glad Tosh had gone off with Cameron and Chase to examine Joey, because his relationship problems were nothing compared to hers, yet that knowledge didn't soothe him one bit. "Let me get this clear. While the rest of us were risking our lives fighting aliens and shutting down the factory, you were busy having an orgy with House and Wilson?"

"And Cuddy," House added gleefully. "Come on, Wilson, let's steal me a new cane from the little shop before Cuddy gets security working again."

"I... it was, I mean, it was nothing," Jack stammered, and Ianto was glad he at least had the grace to be nervous. "Look, it happened really fast and--"

"I bet it did," Ianto said smoothly. "Go put on some pants, _sir_. And if you're not going to do anything helpful, get lost."

"But the diagnosis. I mean, we need to know what's wrong with Gwen."

"You're still linked with Dr. House, sir. You don't have to be in the room."

Jack scowled but followed Ianto's instructions, ignoring the wink House sent his direction. "That's the spirit," House said. "Everyone cheats in the end; sex without morals is the way to go."

"Your diagnosis," Ianto said as they followed Tracy into Gwen's room, "that's all I'm asking for. No social commentary, please."

Wilson squeezed through the door as it was about to shut and handed House a new cane before sneaking out again. The door shut with a soft click, and Tracy took a chair beside Gwen. Bilis slumped in a chair across the bed, snoring like a chainsaw. House surveyed the scene and harrumphed. "This is not the dramatic reveal I was hoping for."

"Maybe you should've thought about that before you opened your mouth earlier."

"Don't encourage Dr. House to think about himself any more than he already does," Tracy suggested.

"I'd have thought you'd be more grateful, Jones."

Ianto leaned against the wall. "I appreciate what you did, Dr. House, but not your motivations."

"You enjoy details, don't you?"

"This isn't about me. Diagnosis, House."

"Actually, the show you're looking for is called _Diagnosis Murder_."

Now that they were finally back at the hospital and the ordeal with the aliens was over, exhaustion was setting in fast and it was being driven home to him that he hadn't slept in over thirty-six hours. It was hard to believe, with everything that had happened, that they'd only been in New Jersey for three days. Enough was enough. "Ball, please, Tracy."

The nurse sat up, looking surprised, before digging into her pockets and tossing Ianto a stress ball. He held it up before his face and squeezed until there was a spluttering noise, and Ianto let a pancake-shaped mass drop to the floor. House took the hint.

"VHL," he said.

"VHL?" Tracy repeated. "No way."

"Yes way, Tracy." Twirling his cane, he added, "It's the real McCoy. Wow, I've been waiting to say that since I figured it out."

"Explain, please," Ianto said, stamping on the remains of the stress ball for emphasis.

House rolled his eyes. "Von Hippel-Lindau disease, caused by a mutation of a tumor suppressing gene on the third chromosome. Obviously, we'll have to run a DNA test to confirm, but everything fits, from the angioma in her eye to the pheochromocytoma. The lack of the gene causes tumors, some benign and others malignant, to grow in the body, and onset of symptoms varies by age but this case is not particularly abnormal. The pheochromocytoma and other, smaller tumors, coupled with a high-stress lifestyle and excessive sodium intake from her frankly repulsive alien-hunter diet, led to the stroke, which caused her loss of vision and other brain damage, obscuring the underlying condition."

"But it can't be genetic," Ianto protested.

"Why not?"

"Two reasons. The first is that you requested DNA tests from Gwen's parents. Is VHL not something you tested for?"

"It was. That was the main reason I didn't reach this conclusion sooner; we dismissed all genetic causes based on her parents, and I didn't want to take the time to run the test on Cooper when she was already on the verge of death. About twenty percent of VHL cases are caused not by inherited defects but by mutations in the sperm or egg or during early fetal development. Internal corruption, you see, an accident of nature. And as far as I know, that's the _only_ reason it can't be genetic, which makes me curious what your second point is."

"It can't be because..." he took a deep breath. "It can't be because if it's genetic, there's no cure. If that's all there is to her illness, she won't get better. Sometimes she recognizes people, sometimes she doesn't. She can't see color. She might have cancer..."

"And she'll have to monitor her condition very carefully for the rest of her life." House shrugged. "That's life. So there, you have your diagnosis. The tests will be back in a few days and then we'll know for sure." He headed for the door but Ianto sidled over and blocked his exit. "Get out of the way."

"No," Ianto said. "That can't be it."

"And here I was hoping a clandestine alien-hunting organization might be a bit more reasonable to deal with, but no, you're all a bunch of whiny family members too. Or maybe it's how _ordinary_ the whole condition is that bothers you? Can't fight genes with guns, Jones, and there's no funny alien devices to make the problem magically go away."

House tried to shove him aside, but Ianto was rooted to the spot. He felt as though lightning had struck him, and he laughed before pulling House in for a hug. "What are you doing?" he protested, and his struggles caused him to sprawl onto the floor when Ianto let go. "That's assault and battery, I'll have you know!"

"You're a genius, House," Ianto said hoarsely. "A bloody genius."

"Of course I am. But why do _you_ think so?"

Ianto dashed off, and he heard Tracy say, "Hey, I thought you were supposed to make the dramatic exit, House." He grinned as he heard House splutter something in return.

He flew past confused hospital staff, who glanced around as though expecting to see National Guardsmen in pursuit. "No running!" Brenda yelled as he soared past, but he didn't care. He burst into Gwen's original room and discovered several cases in the corner that had remained untouched through all the battles. The one that belonged to him had a small nametag affixed to the lock, and he threw it open and removed a device. An alien device, but one whose function he wasn't worried about. He turned it on.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked, entering the room fully dressed, complete with the military coat he'd left in the hospital. He looked every inch the dashing captain, but Ianto refused to meet his eyes.

"How'd you find me?"

"You have half the hospital in a panic," Cameron replied as Chase pushed her wheelchair into the room. "Cuddy's going to demand your head." Owen and Foreman piled in, followed by House and Wilson. A few nurses peered in from the hallway, as though expecting a party. It may not have been a party, but it'd be dramatic.

"She can have it," Ianto replied, feeling a strange sense of giddiness, as though he would float into the sky if he didn't remind himself to stay grounded. "You know the diagnosis?"

"Yeah, House had me send a blood sample to the lab," Foreman replied.

Cuddy tapped his shoulder, and he leapt aside to let her pass. "What the hell is going on here?"

Finally, Toshiko appeared in the back, not bothering to make her presence known, but Ianto pushed through the others to take her hand. "You think you can help Gwen?" she asked.

"I know it," Ianto said. "How are you doing?" It was a stupid question, he knew, but it was the simple gestures that counted, like when Tosh had brought him a cup of coffee after Lisa died. She squeezed his hand, acknowledging his intentions.

"I'm fine. As fine as I can be. If you can help Gwen, then at least something good came out of today. If there's anything Torchwood has taught me, it's to take the joys you can have and not wish for more."

Ianto kissed her on the forehead and only realized afterward that he'd done what Jack usually did in these situations. He tried not to let his consternation show on his face. "Sometimes wishes come true, Tosh." A light wind started up outside, and the faintest echo of a sound that could not be duplicated anywhere in the universe began. Tosh's eyes widened as she realized what they were hearing. He grinned. "Are you ready to meet a legend?"

An ancient sound echoed through the still air, and Cuddy dashed to the window. "What's that? Something's materializing on the lawn!"

Jack gaped at Ianto. "Did you call him?"

"Yes, sir. That device you refused? He gave it to me instead."

"What are you talking about?" House snapped. "_Who_ are you talking about?"

"The Doctor," Ianto and Jack replied at the same time.

"Doctor who?" Chase said.

Tosh peered out the window and flashed Chase the smallest of smiles. "Exactly," she replied. Outside, a blue police box waited for them.

By the time they reached the lawn, a tall, skinny man in a brown suit and coat was running his hand through his hair and staring in consternation at the ruined hospital, as though perplexed to have caught the aftermath rather than the beginning of mass destruction. Ianto supposed that was a forgivable reaction for the Doctor.

"Ianto!" he exclaimed as he caught sight of him. "You called? Ah, Jack! And you've got a whole gang, how lovely. I suppose you must have, to cause so many explosions. Typical Torchwood... but unless I'm completely wrong, which could happen, I suppose, unlikely though, then we're not in Cardiff. We're, well, 'across the pond,' as you would say. Could say. And, oh dear... timelines. Yes, timelines, timelines, timelines... when did we last meet?"

"Cardiff," Jack said. "You dropped me off, with Martha."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Let's just say we're not quite on the same page. Or worldpage, is that an appropriate term? Worldline, worldpage, same thing. Anyway, can't say, would spoil things and definitely alter the future, which we don't want, because any alternative to what happened is one we don't want to contemplate."

"Who is this moron?" House demanded.

Ianto let Jack make the requisite introductions and noticed he left out many details, such as the whole Time Lord bit.

"And you travel around in a little box?" Chase said.

"It's bigger on the inside," Ianto put in.

"That sounds like a pick-up line," said Chase suspiciously. 

The Doctor was already halfway to the TARDIS door, but he skidded to a halt and said, "You just have to ruin the surprise, don't you?" He flung the doors open.

"Tada!" Ianto said, half dramatically and half jokingly.

"He usually has a pretty female companion too," Jack said.

"I resent that everyone thinks I behave like some human male showing off his muscle car." Nevertheless, he shuffled aside and motioned for the non-Torchwood humans to enter and look around. "So now, I'd like to know what happened here and why you called me."

"Chula!" Jack exclaimed. "Is that what you were thinking, Ianto? Of course, why didn't I think of that?"

Ianto had not actually been thinking of anything in particular except that the Doctor would probably know of some alien technology that could heal humans, but he wasn't about to admit that. "Er, yes?"

"Nanogenes!" Jack breathed. 

"Going back to your old ways, are you?" the Doctor said.

Jack shook his head, but before he could explain, they heard a _vworp-vworp_, and the doctors piled out of the TARDIS faster than Ianto could say "Boo." The Time Lord's muscle car did not fade away, though, and they were all left scratching their heads as to what had happened when Ianto spotted a second police box thirty meters to their left. A young girl bounded through the doors and caught sight of them.

"Uh, Doctor?" she called into the TARDIS. "I think we have a problem."

An unlikely-looking man stumbled out of the TARDIS, trailing a long multi-colored scarf behind him and looking alert. The group moved to meet the newcomers, and then the man, whom Ianto assumed was also the Doctor, looked them up and down and said, "Alright, which one of you summoned me, and how?"

"Oh," the scarf-less Doctor replied. "Right, sorry about that. I recovered the device from the Brigadier a while back and gave it to someone else. There must have been cross-link interference with the chronometer, so it summoned both of us when activated. Everyone, meet me. The fourth me, I believe."

"You?" Cuddy looked like she wanted to hit someone again.

"He regenerates, changes forms, when mortally wounded," Jack said.

"That's fascinating," said Tosh. "How do you do that? You must change every atom in your body! The amount of energy that must take-- at least, oh, two hundred eleven point three eight eight terajoules every eight seconds, over a period of at least eight hours, and you'd have to be generating it almost entirely internally! There's no natural energy source that could produce that much, at least not on Earth." Both Doctors looked impressed.

"That's actually not too far off," the skinny one said.

"Quite frankly, I'm surprised he isn't on his thousandth incarnation, the way he behaves," Ianto added.

"Hey!" the Doctor--again, the one without a scarf--said. "Only on, er, number ten, I think, thank you very much."

"You _think_?" said Owen.

"After a while you lose track. It's like birthdays."

"So you're like a cat with even more extra lives," Cameron cooed.

"Last I checked, cats don't go poof in a burst of bright light and come back as a different color," Jack said.

The fourth Doctor glanced about. "Am I needed for something urgent?"

"Someone needs healing, apparently," Ten replied. "I'm going to guess it's that pretty Welsh girl, since she's not here." Jack nodded, so he continued. "Chula nanogenes, they want."

"Chula?" Four sounded unnervingly skeptical.

"She's suffered brain damage and also needs some rewriting of her genetic code," Ianto explained.

"Ah, Chula it is, then. No other race can perform surgery so deft. Quite fascinating, you know."

"_But_," Ten cut in, "that's going to be a problem."

"How so?" Four asked.

"Uh, spoilers. But the planet Chula has been, ah, missing for a while. Since... certain events. I have no clue where it is, and that's not the only issue. The Chula have migratory tendencies. They liked to travel from planet to planet, setting up temporary homes, and generally getting along with the local peoples. Often they moved in on fairly primitive societies and ended up being worshipped as gods, and by the time they'd leave, they'd have adapted parts of that planet's cultures into their own. They moved their planet to go into hiding as a precaution against, uh, cataclysmic possibilities, and there's no guarantee they haven't simply gotten bored and gone on vacation, so to speak, now that the planet does not require defending. Naturally, we could search for it, and two would be, well, twice as good as one, but it would be a stab in the dark either way."

"We have to save Gwen. I'm not losing anyone else," Tosh said quietly. The other members of the Torchwood team nodded their agreement.

"You'd really help us?" Jack asked Ten.

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Ten said. "Why wouldn't I?" Jack shrugged.

"I'm not so sure I'm enthusiastic about some giant scavenger hunt throughout the whole universe," Four mused, twirling a curl with his finger. "Sarah Jane and I were in the middle of something."

"We were?" said the girl he'd arrived with. 

"Hush," he said, looking guilty. 

"No reason why you shouldn't!" said Ten, clapping his hands together. "It'll be fun!"

"I don't see why we can't help them, Doctor," said Sarah Jane. 

"Oh, all right." Four grinned maniacally. "If I get bored, though, I'm not promising I'll stick around." Sarah Jane elbowed him.

"Fair enough," said Jack. 

"So, I guess no one's going to tell me unless I ask. What is a Chula?" said Owen.

"I was wondering myself," said Tosh.

"Oh, they're very interesting!" said Four enthusiastically. "They're quite advanced, you know. They're definitely one of the higher forms of life in the universe, nearly on par with the Time Lords, except they seem to have no interest in time travel or dimensional and spatial physics. No, instead they focus on other types of technology, and their specialty has always been nanotechnology. Despite being so advanced, they're actually pretty laid back as a culture. At a first glance--" He was cut off by House, who was looking slightly pissy and had been unusually quiet until then.

"I'm coming," he announced.

"Ex_cuse_ me?" said Jack.

"Who are you then?" said Four. House ignored him.

"If I stay here, I'll be essentially jobless for a long time--" he gestured at the broken hospital "--and seriously, you guys are going to alien planets? I'm not going to stay here and listen to idiots whine about their sniffles. My life just got a hell of a lot more interesting, and I intend to keep it that way. Besides," he added to Jack, "you and I are still linked. We have to find a way to undo this. It's driving me mad." 

Jack shrugged. "Oh, I don't care," he said. He turned to the fourth Doctor. "This is Doctor House. He's the one who diagnosed Gwen."

"I'm a genius," added House.

"Nice to meet you! What do you mean, linked?"

"Long story," Jack said. "Later."

"I'm coming too!" Chase interjected. "So is Joey!"

"Er," said Jack.

"I'm sure as hell not staying here," Cameron said, wheeling her chair around to the front of the group. 

Jack looked about to protest, but Owen cut him off. "Great! The more the better, _right, Captain_? It means more people to search!" He smiled at Cameron, and she smiled back. Jack didn't bother reminding him that there were only two TARDISes anyway, and gave in instead. Everyone looked expectantly at Foreman. He noticed and started waving his hands in front of himself defensively, backing away slightly.

"Ooooh, no, no freaking way! I'm staying right here, thanks very much! If I go with all of you crazies, I'd just end up locked in some tiny, enclosed space with Owen again, I know it! Do you have any idea how often that happened? At _least_ three! No thanks. I'll take care of Gwen and help get the hospital back on track."

"Your loss," said Cameron, shrugging. 

"Dr. Cuddy? Dr. Wilson? You two can come also if you want," Jack offered. 

"Oh no, I couldn't," said Cuddy right away. "I have to stay here! This is my hospital, and look at it!" She wanted desperately to come, Ianto could tell. He admired her for putting what she considered her duty first.

"Are you sure? You were brilliant today," Jack said. Ianto snorted softly. The two Doctors observed quietly, standing near their TARDISes. Sarah Jane was watching with quiet excitement, knowing a new adventure was on the horizon. Cuddy looked torn.

"You could put Foreman in charge. He's almost as much of a tightass as you," House suggested off-handedly. Foreman perked up instantly and turned big, hopeful eyes on Cuddy. Cuddy wrung her hands.

"But-- but-- Oh, to hell with it. Yes, I'll come." 

Jack grinned. "It's also a time machine," he added. "So we could come back to whenever you need."

House shook his head. "No. No! I'm not coming back until this hospital is rebuilt."

"Well, we don't always land quite on target," the tenth Doctor said. "You know, it's about right, give or take a few... years..." He paused, probably realizing this did not impress. "But we can always try again if we figure out the problem in time," he said quickly.

Jack turned to the last undecided member of the group. "Dr. Wilson?" Wilson looked pained, clearly torn between not really wanting to come and wanting to make sure his friends would be okay. 

His caring nature won out and he nodded, grimacing slightly.

"Great!" said Ten. "Let's go!"

"Now hold on," House said sharply. "You weirdos may be fresh as a daisy in the springtime, but I've been running around, being chased, shot at, and generally menaced for over twenty-four hours now, and I want a shower, a very large meal, and at least eight hours of sleep before I leave. Another bottle of Vicodin would be excellent too. I seem to have lost mine at some point." The last bit was directed at Cuddy, who rolled her eyes. Wilson, Cameron, Chase, and Owen vehemently agreed with him. Sarah Jane looked crestfallen.

"You mean I have to spend eight hours playing solitaire on the TARDIS computer?" she whined. "I hate doing that." 

"No," said Cuddy. "You can assist the National Guard in fixing up my hospital if you want." Sarah Jane brightened up at that, which was probably not the intended response.

"Does Gwen have that much time left? Can we afford to rest?" Tosh asked, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

"She's technically not in any immediate danger. She could stroke again, but as long as there are people watching her, she shouldn't die," said Cuddy.

"Are you sure?" Tosh said. Jack stepped in.

"Tosh, you need rest the most of any of us. Gwen will be fine, I promise." Tosh hesitated, then nodded. Jack straightened up. "Okay, you all have nine hours to eat, shower, sleep, and do whatever you need to do. We'll meet back here."

"Before you go running off," Ten spoke up, "We should work out who's going with who."

"I get the smart girl!" Four said quickly. 

"Hey, no fair!" Ten whined at him. "I wanted her!"

"Too bad. I said it first." Four grinned. Ten pouted. Tosh raised an eyebrow. Jack sighed.

"Fine. I get the pretty hospital lady then," said Ten when it became clear that the pouting wasn't going to work. 

"What are you two, high school football captains picking teams?" said House.

"Me?" said Cameron excitedly.

"No, her," said Ten, pointing at Cuddy.

"Fine," said Cuddy. "Since that's settled, I'm going to go take a shower and sleep. See you all in nine hours." She strode off. 

"What about me?" Jack asked Ten, sounding hurt. 

"Oh yeah, I want Jack too," Ten added brightly. Jack perked up.

"I'll go with him then," said Ianto, motioning towards the other Doctor, who looked satisfied with that. Four surveyed the rest of them. 

"I'll also take the froggish one," he said, pointing at Owen.

"Hey!" said Owen.

"Excuse me, what am I? Chopped liver? No! I'm a genius! Everyone should want me!" said House.

"What about me and Joey?" said Chase.

"I'll take him," said Ten, pointing at Wilson. Wilson shrugged.

"I have Sarah Jane also, so you can have the one in the wheelchair and the Australian," said Four. "I guess I'll take the cranky one."

"Good," said House, looking satisfied.

"Are we settled then?" asked Jack, looking morosely at Ianto. 

"I think so," said Ten. 

House had limped over to Four and was whispering something in his ear. Four looked at him and said, "Really?" House nodded confidently. "All right then. I'll trade you the one with the sideburns for the wimpy-looking one." The last bit was said to Ten. 

"Hmmm." Ten glanced back and forth between them, looking contemplative. After a moment, Ianto caught on to what was happening.

"Wait. What? No! You can't do that!" he said. The two Doctors ignored him.

"Who's the wimpy one?" said Wilson. No one said anything. "Wait, me? _I'm_ the wimpy one? I don't--oh, fine. Whatever, I don't even care."

"It's a deal," said Ten. 

Four grinned. "Great, that's settled then! Nap-nap time!"

"So it's me, Owen, Dr. House, and Dr. Wilson with this Doctor and, was it Sarah Jane?" said Tosh. Sarah Jane nodded happily. "And Jack, Ianto, Dr. Cuddy, Dr. Cameron, and Dr. Chase with Jack's Doctor?"

"_Whose_ Doctor?" said Ten.

"Don't forget Joey!" said Chase.

"Hold on a minute! I'm not going with them!" said Ianto.

"Exactly. Let's go eat," said House. He turned and walked off. Wilson followed him.

"Hey, what did you tell the Doctor to make him trade for me?" he asked. House smirked at him.

"I told him you were an excellent knitter and you'd knit him some socks to go with that lovely scarf of his."

"House! I don't know how to knit!"

"I know," said House smugly. Foreman caught up with them as they entered the building to look for a phone.

"Didn't you last have your motorcycle at the governor's mansion? Are you just going to leave it there?" he asked House.

House paused and thought back. "Shit! Hot wire me a car, Foreman, we're getting my bike back!"

Ianto was distracted when Jack put his hands on his shoulders. "Well, looks like we're fated to be together."

"Go away, sir."

"Come on, Ianto. It wasn't me who arranged the trade."

Ianto ignored him and proceeded back to Gwen's room. "You're staying here?" he asked Tracy when he got there.

"Absolutely," she replied. "Someone has to keep an eye on Bilis, though if you ask me, he seems awfully devoted." She sighed. "I wish I had someone like that."

"He stabbed Gwen's boyfriend."

Tracy grinned. "Exactly."

"Right, I forgot. Cheating, slapping, ball squeezing..."

"You know you're thinking the same thing."

"Yeah, but Jack would just get back up again."Droid is not a real word, but Joey is

"Trouble in paradise, Ianto?" the Doctor asked, leaning in the doorway. Ianto jumped a little at his sudden appearance. "You know, I had a bet going with Martha that you'd have Jack dancing to your tune within a month. I guess I owe her." When Ianto didn't say anything, the Doctor came over and said, "This her?"

"Gwen Cooper. What a difference two days can make."

"History changes in a second."

They watched her sleep, the rise and fall of her shallow breathing causing Ianto more anxiety than any moment in the factory. "You can do it, right?"

"I'm brilliant," Ten said. "I can do anything if I set my mind to it."

"Good. It's about time we got a miracle."


	20. Arc 2: The Search for Chula

**Arc 2**

**The Search for Chula**

**Prologue**

Samuel Vimes awoke suddenly as if from a bad dream, though he couldn't remember what the dream might have been about. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling the sort of headache coming on that came from too little sleep. It was the sort of headache he was well used to, and so he ignored it.

It was morning already so he got dressed and shaved quickly, then went downstairs where Sybil was already cooking breakfast. She smiled and put a plate of extremely blackened bacon in front of him, which he ate with relish. She didn't say anything about his late return home the night before, for which he was grateful. 

"Will you be home for dinner, dear?" Sybil asked him as he fastened his armor. He suspected she already knew the answer, but he still told her he'd try. He would try, he just knew it wouldn't happen.

Not right now.

Not with everything that was happening.

It was still early. The sun was in the sky, but it hadn't yet been there long enough to dry up the dew on the grass. Vimes kissed his son goodbye and left, making his way to Pseudopolis Yard, taking as much time as he could while still being able to say he hurried. He wasn't anxious to get back to the chaos and nervous tension of the Watch House.

He let his feet do the walking, so used to the route and the city that he didn't even have to think about where he was going. Instead, his mind whirled with thoughts about the case. He had already examined it from every angle and come up with nothing, but today was a brand new day, and you never knew what they might hold, though experience told him it was usually nothing good.

Sam Vimes preferred the night. 

Sam Vimes may prefer the night, but His Grace, Sir Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh and Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch had to work during the day. It was part of the job description. 

The Watch House at Pseudopolis Yard wasn't actually far from the Ramkin Estate, so it wasn't long before he got there. Captain Carrot was waiting for him outside the doors. He saluted sharply as Vimes approached.

"What have you got for me?" said Vimes.

"Forensics has turned up no new evidence regarding the Patrician's Palace," Carrot began. The forensics team had once consisted of only one member, but had recently grown to a small group of people of varying shapes and sizes, lead by Sergeant Cheery Littlebottom. 

"No surprise there," Vimes said. The room in question had been quite thoroughly ransacked by the incompetent palace guards before Vimes had gotten there, and there were any number of passages the would-be murderer might have taken to get out. 

"Angua has something for you, though. I don't know what it is yet, she only just got in."

"Good. What about Lance-Constable Sally? Is she back yet?"

"Er, I haven't seen her yet, sir. I expect she will be soon, though."

"Fine. Anything else?" They made their way up the stairs and into Vimes' office. Carrot had the look that said to Vimes he wasn't going to like what else Carrot had to say. He thought he probably already knew what it was.

"Eight more people have presented with symptoms overnight. Five more in Dolly Sisters, two on Esoteric Street, and, um, one on Cockbill Street," he said.

"Cockbill? What? In the Shades? That's nowhere near the others! How could it have spread that far?" Vimes was aghast. As if he didn't have enough to deal with!

"Well, sir," said Carrot sheepishly. "We don't actually know that it's the first. We hardly patrol the Shades at all and the citizens there aren't too likely to come to us with their problems." This was said with a shade of reproach. "There could be many more cases, and this is just the first we've learned about it. I have Sergeant Detritus leading a small squad in a search down there right now."

"Great," said Vimes. "And you've had them all transferred to the quarantined area, right?"

"Er, well, yes," Carrot said, looking uncomfortable. He shifted his balance a couple times. Vimes arched an eyebrow at him and said nothing. Carrot was a terrible liar, probably one of the worst the Disc had ever seen. "All right, one of them was just a toddler! I couldn't take her away from her mother!"

Vimes sighed heavily. So it was affecting children now? Until now, the mystery disease had only hit adults. Nearly two hundred humans and dwarfs had contracted the illness, and though none had died so far it was clearly only a matter of time. 

Carrot was a great Captain, the best he could hope for, but even after years in the city he was still a little naive.

"If the mother wants to go with her daughter, I'll allow it under the circumstances. But our only hope right now is the quarantine. We can't have any affected outside or else it's useless. Send someone to tell her." 

Carrot looked stiff, but he wouldn't disobey a direct order. "I'll go tell her myself, sir," he said. Vimes nodded to him.

"Will you find Constable Downspout and send him in before you go? I need to speak with him."

Carrot nodded and left. Vimes busied himself with meaningless paperwork, the stack of them that needed signing from him in particular. His paperwork load had dramatically decreased since he'd employed Mr. A.E. Pessimal, but it hadn't gone away completely. 

It was mindless, though, so he thought while he did it. 

Someone had broken into the Patrician's Palace in the dead of night two days ago. That in itself was quite an accomplishment. There weren't so many guards that they wouldn't be easy to avoid, but the Palace itself was riddled with traps and fake passages so that it was nigh impossible to get anywhere meaningful. And then there was the Patrician himself, a man who always knew what was going on in his city. It was a strange thing to think he hadn't been able to foresee this. 

But then, Vetinari was getting old...

No. The man only got sharper in his old age. Vetinari going senile? Vimes couldn't see it. The more likely possibility was that the man knew something and just wasn't telling him. 

All the evidence pointed to the killer having been going after the head cook, but Vimes had learned not to put much stock in evidence long ago. 

Not that there wasn't plenty of reason for someone to want to kill the head cook, apparently. It turned out he was a bit of a womanizer, and it was easy to imagine that the prospective killer was a jilted lover, or at least someone hired by a jilted lover.

It didn't quite add up, though. The person who'd broken in had some serious skill and hadn't left behind much in the way of clues at all. Vimes found it hard to believe he or she was some kitchen wench or laundry maid. He could have been hired, but the Assassins had made it clear that no contract had been taken out for the cook's head and that if there were any mercenaries in town, they'd have been found out and hunted down a long time ago. The Assassin's Guild was very good at being the only trained killers in the city, and besides, mercenaries had no style. 

Why would an extremely skilled, well-trained killer break into the Patrician's Palace, of all places, leave no evidence behind except a couple unexpected eyewitnesses and just enough clues to point towards an assassination attempt, but fail in the actual assassination despite not being interrupted? 

Unlikely. 

One of the unexpected eyewitnesses rapped on his window and he opened it to let Constable Downspout in.

"Anything?" Vimes asked him, knowing not to expect much. The gargoyle said something which translated, after a bit of thought, into "No, sir. Myself and Sediment were the only two who saw him leaving the Palace." 

There was a short conversation that amounted to nothing, and Vimes dismissed him. 

Then there was this disease. They weren't linked in any way, and while that normally wasn't enough to convince Vimes, his gut told him they were completely separate. The first victims had turned up a week before the Palace incident, and it hadn't stopped. Even Igor hadn't been able to figure out what it was, though his specialty was admittedly not illness, but surgery. 

Now a toddler was affected. That hit home for him far more than anything else on this case had so far. What would he do if Sybil or Young Sam caught this disease? It wasn't something he could fight, there was nothing he could do against it except try to contain it. The best he could do for them was to keep them away from it. He wasn't even sure about coming home after having been in contact with the illness, however brief, but Sybil made sure he did, and what could he do?

A quarantine area had been set up just outside the city and it was supplied as best he could provide, but he knew it wasn't good enough. It could never be. Too many people thought those inside were doomed anyway. A cure seemed too far off. People on the streets were calling it the Poor Man's Poison.

Vimes stood and left the office. There was work to do.

On the way out he was intercepted by Constable Visit. 

"Sally's back, sir!" he said excitedly. 

"Good," said Vimes gruffly.

"She's downstairs, said she'd be up in a minute."

"I'll go down to her," Vimes said, not wanting to spend any longer cooped up in his office. 

Sally was in the main area and Vimes ushered her to a corner so they wouldn't be overheard by everyone in the room. Not that what she had to say would be confidential, but it was better not to spread these things around.

"Well?" he asked.

"I think your theory has gained more ground, sir," Sally said. "Angua picked the scent up again by the river. It disappeared again outside the city, but we can definitely conclude that the perpetrator is at least staying outside the city. He didn't smell like city folk, and the scent bomb he used definitely had some Klatchian spices."

"Things are very rarely what they seem. We could just have a smart one," said Vimes.

"Perhaps," Sally said doubtfully. She was a good Watchman definitely, but she was still new and had a lot of learning to do. 

Vimes dismissed her. He knew he was right. It didn't add up otherwise.

The offender hadn't been there to kill anyone. That was a decoy if he ever saw one. So if he wasn't there to kill someone, what had he been there to do?

Steal something? Or maybe leave something behind...

Vimes informed Carrot he was going out and left the Watch House. 

He'd find out. He always did, in the end. That's what they said about him, that he wasn't the brightest but he was stubborn and he didn't give up. It was true. 

He turned a corner and kept walking.

He'd find the fake murderer, bring him to justice, and he'd find out what was causing a sudden outbreak of a new disease, and he'd stop it all. 

He had to.

A crossbow bolt shot past his face.

--

_The light of your life has extinguished,_ the fortune teller whispered to her in Singapore. And in its absence, dark days and dark nights passed in rapid succession, all alike and rushing away like sand in the surf. She was no longer able to mark the difference; time had cast her adrift and marooned her, unable to live or die.

A week ago, her moon blood had come, and she knew there would be no child from that union they'd placed their hopes on. If she could not have Will, they had thought, she could at least have his child, but now it was too late. By the time they met again, she would be too old, and with no child's demands to excuse her from piracy, it would become her life and consume her. Elizabeth Turner found she did not care. 

_If we sail long enough, perhaps we will find him,_ she found herself thinking, but she knew what that would mean. She knew the reunion would be short-lived, and bitter. Will was no Davy Jones, but no bargain with the guide of the dead could last forever, and then she would leave his side, much sooner than if she did not seek death. It was funny; she had been beyond the end of the world, but she still had no idea what truly lay beyond. There was no need to seek it out before her time, and yet the separation was painful. It tugged at her, drawing her, rushing like a current toward an infinite abyss.

_He sails amongst the drowned and shall not return so long as you dare not burn the wick._

"Hoist sails!" she cried, watching her crew leap at her orders. The great warship rocked as the wind caught the canvas, and the _Empress_ soared forward. Already, Singapore lay small on the horizon, but within the hour, it would vanish completely. There would be no outrunning her fortune, though. And prophecy.

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me..." All through her childhood, that wish had never been granted, yet now that she was a pirate lord, king of the Brethren Court, there was nothing Elizabeth wanted more than to be a woman on land again. An ordinary woman, living an ordinary life with an ordinary blacksmith.

"Are you all right, Captain?" Tai Huang, her first mate, asked. "You appear troubled."

Elizabeth touched the hilt of her sword, seeking the reassurance of its presence. "We have lost control of Calypso, and she still remembers her imprisonment. If we are not troubled when the seas are, then we are already dead."

Her words were true and no less than her mate expected, but he still retreated the moment he had an excuse. Gloom brought ill fortune, but that plagued everyone these days. The world was changing. Elizabeth closed her eyes and felt the salt breeze against her face. Somewhere, the _Flying Dutchman_ sailed the ocean, and the wind might yet bring the spray of her passage to her.

"The life line," the fortune teller said, tracing a wrinkled finger down her palm. The smell of incense overwhelmed even the stink of the streets, but it was the only line to reality in the darkness of the stall, secluded in a corner of an alley where even the moonlight did not reach. Elizabeth enjoyed the seedier parts of the port. She wanted to see if anyone did not recognize her and dared to attack her. Thus far, she had been disappointed; she supposed her bodyguards were better at disobeying her orders and following her than she expected.

One lone candle burned, half an inch of wax remaining, the flame hovering just above Elizabeth's upturned hand. She listened for want of anything else to do. The old woman's finger paused as she approached the end of the line. "A life interrupted," she said. "See here. It breaks. There is a gap in your life." She did not say when. They both knew.

What did catch Elizabeth's attention was the fact that there was little left on the other side of the break. She did some quick calculations and said, "If that is my life so far, I have about three years left."

The fortune teller shook her head and patted her hand, making the flame flicker. "The line of a long life can be shorted if it is wasted. Much can be read from a palm, but only the most important events are written."

"So you're saying I might have longer to live, but I might not."

"And sometimes, when fate twists around a person to write the world with their blood, a line appears longer than it should."

"Captain!" Tai Huang bounded back to her side. "We are being hailed."

"By who?" Elizabeth looked around, but the port was smaller than the smallest cloud in the sky. The sea was roiling but devoid of other vessels.

Tai pointed. Right at the horizon's edge, a black dot grew larger. She nodded. There was no need to guess which ship would spot and hail them from such a distance. It was the only one that could be here before anyone would tire of waiting for them, the fastest ship in the world.

"What does Jack want now?" She wasn't sure she wanted to see him again. Not yet, but she supposed the decision was out of her hands.

When the two ships pulled up alongside each other, Barbossa was the one waiting for her on the starboard side of the _Black Pearl_. "Greetings, Elizabeth."

"And what have I done that Jack does not come to greet me in person?"

"Jack is not on board. He has stolen my map."

"You mean _my_ map? Sao Feng loaned it to you, so by rights it is mine."

"Then perhaps you would be willing to help me recover it."

"Looks like Jack stole the map, but you stole his ship. Again."

Barbossa polished an apple on his sleeve and bit into it. "So distrustful, Elizabeth. Well, perhaps I can offer you something that makes my proposal more appealing." He removed a leather-bound tube strapped to his back and tossed it between the two ships. Elizabeth caught it.

"I thought you said Jack stole it," she said, removing the lid. There might be a trap inside, but she doubted it. When she removed the contents, she found herself still looking at Barbossa, even with the map unfurled before her. A circle in the center was missing. "Oh." Then she realized what belonged there. "_Oh._"

Barbossa tossed the apple pit into the ocean. "So you see, the goal is of mutual interest. And if, indeed, it is a fountain, we can even share. There's nothing I'd like more than an eternity of sniping between the three of us."

Elizabeth turned away, stuffing the map back into its container. "I'll meet you in the bathhouse in Singapore."

"Do you think it's wise discussing this in the city? I mean, I have _absolute_ confidence in both our crews, but..."

"My terms or no terms," Elizabeth said. "Besides, all we have are stories. Jack has the only object of value." She wondered if Barbossa would bite. Unless he believed she had a second copy of the map somewhere--which she did not and which she doubted he was stupid enough to think--she was of no more aid to him than any other pirate captain in the world. Yet somehow, he came to her, and it was not for her company. What did he want?

"Very well. It will be good to restock. You are, as always, as intelligent as you are beautiful."

It was a day later before they met again. Elizabeth had insisted, through her servants, that Barbossa settle his crew in, since planning would take a while. Any unpleasant flashbacks to her dealings with Sao Feng had long since been dealt with in the month she had spent here with her crew after the battle. She hoped the same was not true for Barbossa.

She was surprised that Barbossa agreed without protest. If he had any misgivings to leaving his crew and himself at her mercy, he did not show it. For her part, she did not intend them any ill-will but preferred to keep them under her nose. She used the day to search through Sao Feng's extensive collection of artifacts, hoping for other accounts of the fountain of youth. She found nothing. That night, as she slept, she dreamt of Will calling to her.

"Do you at least have the compass?" she asked, when they met again.

"Jack has both."

"Notes from studying the map? Recollections of details?"

"We only began discussing the fountain before I marooned him. I had no chance to look it over."

"Smart of you. So what do you want me to do?"

Barbossa smiled. "There is one whose powers over the water extends even beyond the seas, though certainly her influence there has been distracting lately. What is it, fifty ships sunk by storms in the last month alone?"

"You have an unhealthy obsession with that goddess, Barbossa. Keep Davy Jones in your mind, if you cannot keep her out. She did not help you last time."

"But she will help you."

Elizabeth stared and wondered if the steam had not gone to the pirate's head. "Why should she help me?"

"When the first Brethren Court bound Calypso, they knew that even if we freed her one day, there would still be a need to keep her in check. There is one spell we did not and cannot undo: she must answer the Pirate King. Not _obey_, mind, but she cannot harm you or those who serve you, and a summoning will always succeed."

"That sounds like a poor check, especially since there is rarely a Pirate King."

"But that is the point. When there is no king, everyone is a potential candidate, and a weakened form of the protection extends across the world. In times of dire need, a King can be elected and provide immunity until such time as we accomplish our goals."

"What you want is knowledge, not immunity. What if she answers my summons and not my questions."

"She will answer you."

Elizabeth leaned forward. "How do you know?"

Barbossa chewed his apple and grinned. "I just do. Call me when you are ready. You know where I sleep." He stood and walked out.

She remained at the table for some time afterward. She decided to take a nap.

When she woke, it was dusk. The sound of shutters opening and closing, of some stalls closing for the night and others just opening, drifted through the window. Will had appeared in her dreams again, and she went out to watch the sun set. There was a beach not far from the harbor, and at this time of night, it was almost empty.

"Elizabeth?"

She whirled around, drawing her sword, but no one was there. The voice had been a whisper, almost like the sound of the surf. She listened.

"Elizabeth."

She followed the voice, walking and running the line between the dry sand and the incoming tide. She thought the voice became louder, but in truth, she wasn't sure. She did know it was closer, the way a blind woman might feel her way closer to a fire.

The beach began sloping upward, and before long, was a path worn into rock some fifteen feet above the ocean's surface. A sheer drop marked the end of land, and she couldn't help but walk to the edge and look down, praying against hope to see a ship where it would be impossible to sail. Jagged rocks caused the ocean to crash and boom in the depths below, but there was no ship. And no Will.

"Hello, Elizabeth." This time, she heard footsteps, and the voice was familiar to her.

"Barbossa," she said. "Was that you? How did you do that?"

"Do what? Sneak up on you?" Barbossa laughed as he closed the remaining distance between them, implying that calling someone from over twenty feet away could not be considered sneaking. "Your guards let me through a ways back. They know I'm harmless."

"How did you make that voice?"

Barbossa cocked his head. "What voice?"

"Elizabeth!"

"That voice!" But Barbossa looked as confused as Elizabeth felt, and his lips had not moved. Behind her, the sun vanished, and she thought she saw a spark of green in the edge of her vision.

Barbossa stepped past her to gaze down at the churning waters below. "The ocean speaks to those who would listen."

Waves whispered in her ears in a language she didn't understand. The words were urgent, though. Again, the tugging pulled at her heart, and step by step she drew closer to the edge. An arm blocked her, but she pushed it aside. She thought she heard Barbossa protesting, but it didn't matter.

"Elizabeth!" Barbossa roared.

The sound of her name burst through the haze. The sensation drained from her, as though she had been part of the sea but now it was stranding her. She looked at Barbossa, whose face was white.

"What do you think you were doing?"

Elizabeth touched her forehead and felt sweat. Putting her fingers to her lips, it tasted salty. "Do you know how to summon Calypso, Barbossa?"

Barbossa frowned. "Don't change the subject, Elizabeth."

"I'm not." She smiled. "Answer the question."

"No, not exactly. It says the King will inherit the way. I assume we have to sail to Shipwreck Island to look for chronicles."

Everything was clear. The tugging was still there, but now it felt like a lifeline. She felt like laughing, but Barbossa would think her mad.

"Why do we tolerate kings, Barbossa? The Brethren Court elects a king and then she takes away their power to vote for as long as she lives. Why?"

"I do not know."

Elizabeth reached over and removed an apple from the sack he kept with him at all times. She took one bite, savoring the sweet juice and the crackle of its flesh. Apples had a taste like nothing else. No wonder Barbossa liked them. She handed the rest of the fruit back and gave him his answer.

"Because the king lives to serve. And when the time is right, the king dies for the same purpose."

Before he could react, she took the final step off the edge and plunged into the ocean's waiting embrace.

--

Heartbeats. Two heartbeats, echoing back and forth through time. Both are lost to this universe now, one trapped in another, the other wiped from existence. The echoes still remain, and one who has spent lives listening to invisible sounds has heard. Through the time vortex, a TARDIS spins and draws closer. Ever closer.

Meanwhile, on Earth, Donna Noble was getting irritated.

"Now you listen to me, scarf boy! I don't know what you're playing at, running around the store waving a little stick around screaming about escaped convicts, but quite frankly, I think I know who's escaped. _You_, from a mental institution. You're a nutter!"

The young man ran a hand across his bangs, revealing a jagged scar on his forehead, which only reinforced Donna's opinion of him. Either he enjoyed cutting himself or it was a gang symbol. He was also wearing big, black robes that looked like an idiot in Paris had accidentally sent somebody onto the runway in a garbage bag. 

"Listen, please, you're in danger," he said.

"From a scrawny thing like you? I don't think so! Now get out of here before you knock something over and the manager decides to deduct it from my wages because you've been dragged away by people in white coats before you can pay!"

A second madman burst into the coffeehouse, dressed the same as the first but with a shock of red hair standing on end as though he'd just run through a field of balloons. "What are you doing, Harry? We can get coffee later!"

"He's in the washroom, Ron. I saw him go in, but then this nice lady here started yelling at me because I knocked over a table."

"_Oy_! Don't talk down to me! If anyone's bursting in on men in the toilet, it'll be me!"

The one named Ron took several steps back and muttered, "She reminds of McGonagall, only totally off her rocker."

Donna put a pound in the cash register, ran up a sale, picked up her allocation of donuts and chucked one at him. It was jelly-filled and splattered nicely.

Harry put up both his hands and said slowly, "I'm going to show you my ID, all right? Just going to reach into my pocket and not get any baked goods thrown at me." When no insults were forthcoming, he reached into his robes and withdrew a wallet. He dropped in on the counter and stepped back before she could interpret it as a threatening move. "We're police. We're wearing ponchos because it's raining outside."

"It is not." In fact, it was so sunny the glare off the windows blinded a pigeon and caused it to slam into the sign above the shop. A "B" clattered onto the pavement.

"Down the street," Harry said. A second glance showed there was indeed water on his clothes, though it didn't seem enough to merit a poncho. And it still looked like robes made of cloth to her, but she thought grabbing him might give him the wrong idea. His wallet had contained a badge that looked legitimate enough, so she took wandered toward the door. As she went, Ron made a jerky motion with his stick and muttered under his breath. How rude.

Pitch black thunderclouds were pouring waterfalls onto the next street over. A car drifted past.

"That's odd." Donna said. "So what's the man in the toilet done?" A thought occurred to her, and she started yelling again. "DON'T YOU DARE HAVE A SHOOT OUT IN THE SHOP!"

Harry and Ron made desperate shushing noises. "He'd have to be deaf not to know we're here. If you want us to get him out nice and quiet, just cooperate!"

"But he doesn't have a gun, does he?" Donna asked in a dramatic whisper that somehow managed to be as loud as yelling.

"No." Harry fidgeted in the manner of someone telling the truth but leaving something important out on purpose. There was nothing to do but help him, though. Nutter or not, he was police.

Ron leaned over and said, "I still don't see why we can't just--"

"Secrecy. Muggles. _Shut up_, Ron."

First a criminal in her bathroom and now men in uniform--she assumed they had uniforms on under their "ponchos"--were hissing at each other in police code. She wasn't sure whether the day was going great or not.

The key they needed was one of several on the keychain on Donna's belt, but she found the right one and handed it over after Harry shot down her plan of going first. She took the second best option, which was to tiptoe so close behind Ron that she kept stepping on his heels. He glared at her, but she would just go: "Oops, sorry. This is kind of exciting, isn't it?" and step on him again.

When they reached the door, Harry turned the key and kicked the door open. There was no one inside.

"I saw him go in! He can't have teleported," Donna said, using the most absurd possibility she could think of.

"No, he can't. We set up an anti-apparition barrier," Ron replied with perfect sincerity. He rubbed the remaining jelly off his face and licked his fingers clean. "This is really good, you know that?"

The situation regained their attention when they heard a clanging in the ventilation.

"He's transfigured!" Harry exclaimed. "_Stupefy!_"

The stick he'd been carrying let out a streak of red sparks and the wall exploded. Jets of water knocked them flat on their backs as pipes ruptured and a swarm of mice fell out of hole he'd blasted.

"Which one? Which one is he?" Ron screamed. "Bloody hell, it's like Pettigrew all over ag-- _one's crawling up my leg_!"

Donna grabbed the plunger and started beating Harry with it. "You lying psychopath! Police sure as hell don't carry sticks of dynamite with them. Get out! Get out now!"

"Stop it!" Harry groped around the floor amongst the squeaking rodents as his glasses went flying. "Aha! Got him!"

There was a flash of light and the mouse in Harry's hand floated into mid-air, twisting and shrieking, before suddenly growing into the outline of a man and falling back to the floor.

"Oh my god! He's a naked weremouse!" Donna switched targets and started swinging at the newcomer instead, especially when she saw he also had a stick of dynamite. The man flailed, unable to gain his footing on the wet tile floor, but at last, a random kick of his leg found the base of the sink and he went sliding out into dining area.

He scrambled onto his feet and went for the door, but Donna was right behind him, even as the two worthless police officers were still disentangling themselves from their ponchos. Realizing she wouldn't be able to outrun him, Donna threw the plunger and knocked him off his feet. He fell forward into Donna's box of donuts, then collapsed to the floor, a five centimeter thick layer of jelly and flour products plastered over his face.

"Help me!" Donna yelled, tearing chunks off of him and stuffing them into her mouth. "He's going to suffocate on donuts, and I can't eat them fast enough!" That last sentence came out more "Erm umph affum yum yum" but she assumed she got her point across, because Ron and Harry were soon beside her, and the man didn't die, though he probably wished he had.

"What do you think you are doing?" Donna screamed into his ear. "Do you think I don't have enough trouble as it is? First I get fired from my job, then I have to become a _telemarketer_, then _that_ job gets outsourced to India, and now I'm a bloody cashier in a bloody bakery and you have to come in with these dimwits on your tail and blow up half the building because you didn't have the sense to stay in jail? What did you want here, anyway? Is it donuts? I can give you more donuts!" She grabbed another box and started stuffing them into his mouth. "That's not good? Maybe you need a drink." She got a thermos of day-old coffee and poured the cold remains onto him. "How's that? Is that enough for you? Oy, idiots! Next time he tries to escape, you let me know and I'll beat some sense into him, okay? Just don't let any more of your prisoners get near my place of employment! Now get out of here and fill out some paperwork to compensate me for damages and emotional trauma!"

"_You_ have emotional trauma?" Ron mumbled, dragging the terrified fugitive away from her. "What about us?"

Harry grabbed her before she could charge at him. "Technically speaking, you saw some things you weren't supposed to see. I'm, uh, supposed to wipe your memory."

"Oh yeah? How are you going to do that? You have one of those blue clicker things that you flash in my eyes and make me think it was all swamp gas?"

"Actually, I use my wand."

Donna took his wand and snapped it in half. "Get me my compensation, Merlin, or I'll trap you back under your rock!"

Once Harry had left her a note promising full repayment of all damages--she was _not_ going to get fired for this debacle--and restored the sign outside to its pre-pigeon state, Donna went back to the cash register and rang up another donut. She wondered what her gramps would say about all this. They were always looking at the stars, Donna reassuring him that aliens were definitely out there, and now some psycho was claiming everything ran on magic instead? Rubbish.

_Ding._ She looked down at the cash register, which, instead of the price of the donut, now scrolled: "Hello, Donna Noble. I've been looking for you."

"Now what?" she said. The register replied by opening the cash drawer. A hand reached out and pulled her inside.

It was bigger on the inside.

A man was inside, dressed like Count Dracula at a disco ball. He had a goatee, though the beard was a tad long and half-shaved off, as though he'd had some sort of industrial accident where it got caught in machinery.

"Donna Noble?" he said.

"Yeah, and who are you? Are you the reason cash keeps disappearing?"

"No, that would be Penny, your co-worker."

"Ah! I always knew she was a treacherous bimbo, but would anyone listen? No. 'She's just a bimbo,' Mr. Rogers always says."

"I am not here to gossip with you."

"So what are you here for? You want to suck my blood or something?"

"No, I am kidnapping you to trap the Doctor. At last, I have found a proper companion!"

"What? What doctor? Why would you have a grudge against a doctor? Are you American?"

The man pulled at his beard. "As if. I am the Master."

"Of what, those stacks of coins that you have to beat against the counter to open?"

"No, just the Master. And my arch-enemy is the Doctor!"

"Stuck-up lot, aren't you? Aristocracy?"

"Time lords!"

"Dancing queen!"

She staggered. _Gallifrey_.

Gallifrey, he'd said, as flames roared about them and the Thames came flooding in. The screams of a mother and villainess, both at the same time, and Donna had asked him to stop. He needed someone to stop him. Stop him from what? Stop who? Maybe more importantly, _when_.

"Stop it!" she yelled, but this time there was no authority in her voice. "Stop it," she said again, this time quietly. "I don't know what you're doing to me, but stop. Please." Her head pounded, stretched to its limits like a balloon about to pop and yet still inflating. "_Stop it!_"

"I can't," the Master said. "It's too late for that. You're remembering, and now you must come with me or die."

Donna followed, and she felt scared. Images swirled about her, accompanied by strange names. Ood, Messaline, TARDIS, adipose, Spartacus, _Medusa Cascade_.

"Daleks!" she gasped. She was on the floor clutching her head, the central pillar of the TARDIS looming above her like an idol casting judgment. She remembered the Doctor's console in that little blue box, his manic smile as he ran about hammering and pulling things and pushing a bunch of buttons that probably didn't do anything but made him look cool and knowledgeable.

She remembered the brief hour in which all of time and space had opened up to her. An hour that had spanned eternity. Half-human, half-Time Lord, something new and something terribly old. The Doctor-Donna, whose existence had sent shockwaves back and forth through all of reality and all the realities.

But more importantly, she remembered the joy of setting foot onto a new world, unsure of what to expect but knowing it'd be brilliant, even if there was lots of running involved. She remembered running with the Doctor's daughter, and the look in his eyes when she died. She remembered the look in his eyes when _she_ died, when all the knowledge inside Donna's head had been too much and he realized he had to take her memories, had to take everything that _was_ her. Had to kill her. And he'd done it to save her life. She didn't have to live with the consequences of his actions, but he did.

And now it was for nothing. She was going to die, and all so the Doctor's enemy could break his heart into even more pieces.

The Master put something silver on her forehead, and she wanted to hit it away, only she couldn't figure out which way was up. "What are you doing? Go away..."

"You're no use to me dead."

Somehow, that was comforting. Donna stopped struggling.

"I'm more brilliant than the Doctor, you know."

"Not possible. Can be smarter... but not more brilliant. Don't tell him I said that..."

The Master scowled. "Smartasses, all of you. Is that the only quality he looks for?"

"_I_ found _him_," Donna said, feeling drunk. "Who chopped off your beard?"

"Your predecessor." The Master snatched the silvery thing away. "You can get up now. All better. See? More brilliant. I saved your life."

"You put it in danger in the first place!"

The Master tossed the object up and down. "Would you really want to live the rest of your life never remembering?"

Evil or not, he had a point. She rummaged through her memories, trying to remember if they were all there. It was a kind of silly endeavor, she admitted, but she figured she had the right. "Hey! I still remember it all! Well... most of it..."

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"No, I mean, all the _Time Lord_ stuff. It's still there."

"Most of it will soon fade as the Time Lord component of your brain has been partitioned off. Focus on the things you want to remember because the rest will go. Certainly, your behavior will no longer resemble the Doctor's in any way."

"So that's why it's all misty. I definitely don't feel the turn of the universe anymore, but that was just vertigo anyway. You should genetically engineer it out. I'll show you how before I forget."

"Masters of space and time, and now we're being made fun of by humans. What's the universe come to?"

"Tell me, _the Master_, do you know where the Doctor is?"

"No. I shall have to find him."

"Does that mean we get to have adventures together?"

"No. I will gag you and tie you up, and I shall have adventures by myself."

"The Master's a terrible name. Can I call you beardie?"

"No! It makes you sound like a Scottish duck hunter."

"How about goatee? Or, ooh, even better yet, Billy Goat! Yes, I shall call you Billy."

"The gag is becoming a better and better idea by the moment."

Donna leaned against the console in perfect imitation of the Doctor. The Master growled. "Tell me," she said. "What did you do?"

"Ah," he said, steepling his fingers. "Now you shall be in awe of my brilliance. I used a chameleon arch to separate the Time Lord part of your mind and store it into this fob watch. It's a commonly used device by Time Lords when they need to conceal their identity. For us, it rewrites our DNA and makes us human, removing our memories completely. That process was not necessary for you, of course, so I had to reprogram it. Took me months to perfect, but now it works! So long as you do not open the fob watch, you need not fear a resurgence of the Time Lord part of your makeup."

"What if someone else opens it?"

"Nothing happens!"

"Oh good. I suppose I shall leave it in your care then. Tell me, where are we now?"

"That is unimportant."

"Indulge me."

The Master swooped past her and started fiddling with the controls. "If you must know, we are still in your little café posing as a cash register. However, since you want to go sightseeing, I might as well impress you. How about the triplet moons of Hashas?"

"Boring, boring and a giant advertisement for Mentos. As for Hashas itself, it's a little bit blue, if you get my double entendre."

"Stop with the French! I hate it when non-French use French!"

"Now, you know where would _really_ impress me. Allons-y!" She shoved him out of the way and entered coordinates faster than he could follow. The console blinked and then they were there. "See? Not that far. Either that, or we took a shortcut because your TARDIS likes me better." She patted the lever she'd been holding, though she made a mental note never to do the same thing with any part of her face.

"Where are we?" He tried resisting her, but she pushed him through the door, and the sounds of cheering hit them like a wave.

Flashing lights turned the place into a rainbow as a man on the stage sang his heart out: "_I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles, oh yeah!_"

"We're at a _The Who_ concert?" the Master yelled over the crowd noise.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you! You're looking for a Doctor _Who_?"

_Well, here's a poke at you_

_You're gonna choke on it too_

"Billy, I have to admit, you're very, very smart. And just a little bit sweet, too."

The Master gaped, failing to notice the crowd was pushing him further and further from the TARDIS.

"But you know what?" Donna took a few steps back and silence enveloped her. "You are definitely not brilliant." She slammed the door of the TARDIS on him.

Thirty seconds passed before the Master made it back to the door. She could hear him pounding on it, but the TARDIS refused to let him in. She stroked the door frame. "Good boy. We're going to have some fun times together, aren't we?"

Striding back to the console, she watched the panels light up before she arrived, preparing everything for her command. All right, so she definitely felt an urge to give it a little kiss right now, but it would be a different kiss from the sort the Doctor tended to give. Absolutely, completely different.

"But first," she told the room, "we need to find the Doctor before he drowns any more spiders."


	21. Chapter 14: What Happened Next

**Chapter 14**

**What Happened Next**

Tosh could scarcely believe it. Owen's first action upon encountering the immense, twisting insides of the Doctor's impossible time machine was to march straight into the middle of them and get lost. 

The Doctor and House found this extremely amusing and were apparently bonding over it. They were following Owen's progress like demented voyeurs using a smallish screen on the wall. 

"Oh god, he's found the Orgasmatron," said the Doctor.

"What, like from _Sleeper_? You're kidding," said Wilson, who had been standing off to the side and generally not participating in the Owen-watching. 

"You have something like that?" said House with interest.

"Well, no, not really. It doesn't actually do anything, but it's got ORGASMATRON written in big letters across the top, so whenever people find it they inevitably spend several hours trying to work it and I end up having to explain myself, it's all very embarrassing."

"Aren't we meant to be searching for Chula?" asked Tosh impatiently. 

Sarah Jane walked back into the console room. "Well, I can't find him," she said. "I'm afraid to go too deep, I know I'll get lost if I do."

"It doesn't matter," said House. "He's totally useless anyway." 

"Oh for heaven's sake," said Tosh. "I'll find him. How hard can it be?" With that, she strode through the door and into the interior of the TARDIS. House watched interestedly as the scanner showed Owen kicking the Orgasmatron in frustration. 

"Really, it's just a prop," said the Doctor. "I should put up a sign or something. This is the third time this has happened in the last four hundred years."

"That's actually not very often," said Wilson.

"What? Oh, I suppose not. Still, can't hurt." The Doctor switched the scanner around a bit until he found Tosh. House started complaining. 

"Oh come on, she's not going to be half as interesting!"

"Are we going to look for these aliens or not?" said Wilson. Everyone ignored him.

On the screen, Tosh walked confidently down the white TARDIS corridors. If she came to a fork, she simply placed her hand on the wall and asked the TARDIS where she should go. After a moment she'd nod and choose a direction.

"Amazing," said the Doctor. "I think she likes her." He sounded affronted.

"_She_?" said House. 

"The TARDIS likes the brainy girl," said the Doctor. House was about to point out the stupidity of this statement, but he was distracted by Tosh finding Owen, who looked quite embarrassed to see her. They watched in reasonable silence as she led him back and turned when she reentered the console room.

"Can we go now?" Tosh asked. 

"Did you know you have a _pool_?" asked Owen in wonder. "How the hell does it all fit inside a police box?"

"I'm afraid that question has a very long answer," said the Doctor.

"That means he doesn't know," said Sarah Jane.

"_Can we go_?" said Tosh. 

"Yes, yes, alright, no need to get tetchy," said the Doctor, and he moved over to the console.

"Er, where, exactly, are we going?" said Wilson. 

"To the planet Chula, with luck," said the Doctor cheerily.

"With luck," repeated House dryly.

"Yup!" said the Doctor, then he pulled a lever and things happened. The middle column went crazy and the room started shaking. This lasted several seconds, and then it stopped. "Well, let's see where we are!" the Doctor said. Then he pulled another lever and the doors slid open. 

"Do you even have any sort of guess as to where Chula is, or are you being _completely random_?" Sarah Jane asked him, but he didn't answer. He was too busy strolling out the doors. The others sighed and followed.

The room they entered wasn't too different from the one they'd left. It was much more spacious and there was no central column, but everything was white in the same way everything in the TARDIS was.

A man who definitely had two heads and three arms stared at them. They stared back.

"WOOOOOAH!" the stranger said, waving all three arms wildly as he staggered backwards. "Ford! Ford! You will not _believe_ what just happened!"

"Try me," said a dry voice, whose source made itself known when another man walked through a side door into the room. He stared blankly at the TARDIS, and at the group standing just outside of it. Then he took out a small electronic book, opened it, and spoke to it. "Police Pub--" was as far as he got. The multi-limbed man was going psycho, dancing around the room wildly.

"Hey Trill! Some weirdos flew a big blue box right into the middle of our spaceship and landed it on top of the Earthman! WHOOO!" 

House took offense at this. "Excuse me, _we're_ the weirdos?" he said.

"Don't mind him, that's just Zaphod," said a girl, who had walked in behind Ford. "He can be a little, ah, unmanageable." She looked the box up and down. "Well, it's definitely improbable," she announced. "Hi, I'm Trillian. Nice to meet you."

The Doctor brightened up. "Improbable? Don't tell me... you have an Improbability Drive? Oh, those are so cool! Such an impressive bit of engineering, you know, quite brilliant, although, of course, famously unreliable, and they have a habit of doing things you'd rather they didn't..."

"Oh my god, will somebody _please_ move this _thing_?" said yet another voice. This one was muffled and came from behind the TARDIS. 

"Oh dear!" said Wilson. He and Tosh went behind the TARDIS to see if they could free whoever it was. 

"That is so cool!" said Owen, staring at Zaphod. "A real alien! Do most of them have two heads?"

"Oh, he didn't always have two heads," said Ford conversationally. The book was still open in his hands.

"How did he get two then?" said Owen. "I've always thought it would be cool to have two heads."

"Long story," said Ford.

"Get me out of here!" came the muffled voice. Sarah Jane went back to help as well.

"Where the hell are we?" said House.

"Is that a copy of the _Hitchhiker's Guide_?" said the Doctor, looking interestedly at the book Ford was holding. Ford instantly brightened up.

"Oh yes," he said. "I'm a writer for it, you know!" 

"You don't say," said the Doctor. "I wrote one or two entries myself, a long time ago. I know I still have a copy around somewhere."

"Did you really? Which entries?" Ford was in his element.

"Oh, let's see, I wrote the one about the Ice Warriors, the Great Vampire, and Gallifrey--although I expect that one's been deleted by now; the Time Lords would never allow something like that. I wrote a few more, but not all of them made it in. I was very sad to see the entry on Jelly Babies rejected. Would you like one?" He held out a small paper bag. Ford looked delighted.

"Absolutely!" He took one.

House was not so delighted. "Will you two stop chumming it up and tell me where the hell we are?" he demanded. 

"No need to be so angry," said Zaphod. "Chill out!"

"We're on the Heart of Gold," said Trillian proudly. 

"Are we indeed? I've always wanted to see it!" said the Doctor.

"Finally!" There was a loud scraping as the TARDIS was inched slightly out and a man in a bathrobe squeezed out from behind it. "That was extremely unpleasant," the man said. "Ford, what is going on?"

"Oh, Arthur," said Ford, as though he'd forgotten the man was there. "This is--er, sorry, what was your name again?" 

"I'm the Doctor," said the Doctor, "and this is Dr. House, Dr. Wilson, Dr. Owen, Toshiko Sato, and Sarah Jane Smith." He pointed to each of them in turn. Sarah Jane waved. 

"Just the Doctor?" said Arthur. "How come they all have names?"

"Ummm."

"Hey Earthman, lighten up!" said Zaphod. "I want to know what this thing is!" He was examining the TARDIS with psychotic delight.

"This," said the Doctor proudly, "is my TARDIS."

"Your tar-what?" said Zaphod. 

"TARDIS," said Sarah Jane helpfully.

"Look, this is all very fascinating, but could someone please tell me what's going on?" said Wilson.

"What is all this racket?" said yet another new voice, although this one sounded both robotic and extremely depressed. It made everyone else depressed just hearing it.

Trillian sighed. "Hello Marvin," she said. Indeed, a robot showed up a moment later.

"Can I assume these aren't Chula?" asked Tosh.

"Oh, Chula," said the robot. "I hate Chula. They make me feel so depressed."

"Everything makes you feel depressed, Marv," said Trillian. 

"I like your outfit. Very spacy," said House, eyeing Trillian's skintight, glittery suit. 

The Doctor glanced over. "Reminds me of someone I used to know," he mused. 

"So they aren't Chula," Tosh confirmed.

"Excuse me, I hope you don't mind me asking, but _how the hell_ did all you fit inside that?" said Arthur, the man in the bathrobe, who'd been spending the last several minutes examining it.

"It's bigger on the inside," said Sarah Jane proudly.

"That sounds like a dirty pick-up line," said Zaphod.

"I thought so too!" said Owen, who was clearly trying to suck up to Zaphod in order to get the secret of obtaining multiple heads and limbs out of him. 

"I would love to see more of your ship," the Doctor gushed to Ford.

"It's his ship, not mine," said Ford, pointing to Zaphod. "Arthur and I are just hitching a lift."

"You wouldn't happen to have any tea in there, would you?" Arthur was still eyeing the TARDIS.

"Er," said Wilson.

--

Donna was having a hard time concentrating. She knew she should be focusing on the Doctor's memories from the Time War in which he had to track other vessels moving through the time vortex. It was her only chance of locating him now, but she kept getting distracted by the need to preserve all the Doctor's encounters with Jack Harkness.

"Sonic screwdrivers and bananas," she muttered. "Honestly, that's the best conversation he can come up with? Rose definitely had the brains in that match-up. _Dancing_, hah. Oops."

She had failed to reroute the data stream from the huon modulators into the temporal booster controls, causing the TARDIS to exit the vortex. It materialized in the middle of an African plain, and from the monitors, it looked like the middle of the dry season as clouds of dust and sand drifted across the screen. For some inexplicable reason, the chameleon circuit decided the best course of action when confronted with a bunch of hungry ape people was to turn into a big, black rectangular box. This was a stupid disguise because it obviously panicked the poor hominids. Upon seeing her, they began picking up bones and beating the brains out of each other. Donna considered intervening but decided the best course of action was to remove the offending presence as quickly as possible.

Returning to the vortex, she activated the auto-pilot, which was something the Doctor's Type-40 had definitely been lacking. A twist of the deep range sub-etheric assimilation dial told the system to lock on to the trail of any TARDIS of a certain age. It wasn't that there might be other TARDISes around--two surviving the war were already two more than expected--but it would do no good to barge in on the Doctor before he knew who the hell she was and why she was chasing after him in a stolen TARDIS. Thankfully, her remaining memories allowed her to make an accurate guess of how many years the Doctor's TARDIS had.

That done, she sat down to pursue more pressing matters. "Ooh, Jack in chains," she said. This image required extra attention.

--

"Ducks."

Albert trembled as he nodded, though Susan suspected he was angry rather than frightened. Unexpected occurrences did not sit well with Albert. In this case, however, she had to admit she agreed with him. She decided to try being sensible one more time: "Are you sure they weren't small peacocks?"

"I know what I saw," Albert snapped. "They were ducks, they had color and they ate some of the skeleton fish. A few choked, but obviously they can't die here, so they're still flailing next to the pond. I figure the cats will take care of them once the master gets back."

They passed through the front entrance and angled straight for the pond. There were, indeed, three mallards thrashing on the ground and five more floating on the pond, the motion of their feet sending out ripples where none should be. Even the brown of the females stood out as a brilliant dash of color amidst the black and white of Death's Domain. Susan bent down turned the choking ducks upside down, shaking them until the bones dislodged from their throats. The fish were still intact and bounced back into the pond, whereupon they swam into the depths to avoid a repeat experience.

The ducks quacked as they waddled away, and Albert gave her a disapproving look. "It would be better if we were rid of them."

"Killing them doesn't exactly help us here, does it?"

The two of them stared at the spectacle of non-feline living creatures wandering around the garden until they heard a boy's voice declare, "This is a bit depressing, isn't it? I like the wheat, though."

Death approached, followed by a young man in what looked to be yellow and red pajamas. A shock of brown hair that looked almost as unruly as Susan's covered part of his face, but he brushed it aside as he came closer. Albert snorted dismissively, but Susan wasn't so quick to judge the new arrival. His shoulders were a little hunched, uncertainty and nervousness making him looker younger than he was, but his eyes were steady as they surveyed the surroundings, and when his gaze fell upon her, it did not waver in the slightest. This was someone who was not fazed by the strangeness of Death's world.

WHY ARE YOU NOT IN THE HOUSE? Death asked.

Susan and Albert parted to reveal the scene behind them, but Susan suspected Death had already seen the ducks, as he'd materialized on a slope. Death nodded and headed back for the house without a word. His companion shrugged, and the three of them followed.

As they entered, the boy exclaimed, "It's bigger on the inside!" Susan noticed he, quite unreasonably, relaxed upon making the observation and made a mental note of it.

ALBERT, WOULD YOU BRING US SOME TEA?

Once they were settled in the kitchen, Death made the proper introductions. SUSAN, MEET ADRIC. ADRIC, THIS IS MY GRANDDAUGHTER, SUSAN.

"It's nice to meet you," Adric mumbled, extending his hand. Susan shook it. "You're not very eager to leave, are you?"

Susan smiled. "No, I am not. I would feel better if I knew your credentials, though."

"I'm a math genius, and I've traveled space and time with the Doctor."

"Who is the Doctor?"

"It's complicated, but I'll tell you the whole story if you like. It'll help you get a sense of what to expect out there."

THAT WILL HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL YOU BEGIN TRAVELING, Death said. WHEN DID THE DUCKS APPEAR, SUSAN?

"Albert came to me as soon as he found them, and we headed over to investigate when you arrived. What does it mean?"

IT MEANS THE FABRIC OF REALITY IS WEAKENING. FAITH IS GETTING STRONGER.

"If faith is getting stronger, shouldn't your control over your domain get stronger as well?"

THERE ARE DIFFERENT TYPES OF FAITH, AND DIFFERENT PEOPLE WHO HOLD THEM. BECAUSE MY DOMAIN IS A PARASITE UNIVERSE OF DISCWORLD'S, THE TWO WORLDS ARE MELDING TOGETHER.

"The reality of the Disc will begin intruding here?"

IT ALWAYS HAS, THOUGH TO A LESSER EXTENT.

"But you will still exist. Your powers will remain intact."

FOR SO LONG AS THE DISC DOES, CORRECT.

"Is the Disc in danger?"

THE WAXING FAITH HAS NO PLACE FOR THE DISC. INTERNAL BARRIERS ARE THE FIRST TO FALL WHEN A WORLD BEGINS CONTRACTING.

"Then what will you do?"

THE GODS WILL BE FEELING THE SAME EFFECTS. THERE WILL BE A MEETING, AND THEY WILL TRY TO STRENGTH BELIEF IN DISCWORLD. IT IS OUR ONLY PROTECTION, AND I WILL DO MY PART AS WELL.

"This isn't going to be like that Hogfather incident, is it?" Alfred asked as he laid out the place settings. "Because I call dibs on the sherry if it is."

OUR ROLE WILL BE A BIT MORE... MORBID, THIS TIME.

"How grand."

"I hate to interrupt," Adric said, "but how are we traveling if you don't have a spacecraft?"

Death proffered his tray and dice. Susan scoffed. "That's ridiculous."

IT IS THE ONLY MEANS I HAVE TO OFFER.

"Then we'll go to the wizards. Maybe they will have something better. Or even the Auditors could assemble something."

BUT YOU DO NOT KNOW WHERE TO GO.

"A blind guess is better than leaving our fate to chance."

FATE IS NOT CHANCE.

"I'm not here to debate semantics."

THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT.

Susan stared at him. This wasn't the first time they'd argued over philosophy, but the idea that everything in life was fated was ridiculous. Sure, there were the hourglasses, but that was more like a guideline. You had so much time in the world, but that time was yours. You did with it what you could.

THERE IS A WAY TO TEST MY HYPOTHESIS.

"What's that?"

ADRIC WAS THE ONE WHO ASKED ABOUT TRANSPORTATION, YET YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE THE SENSIBLE ONE. THAT MEANS YOU ALREADY HAVE PLANS, AND THEY DO NOT INVOLVE LEAVING THE DISC.

"Clever of you."

Death put the time die into his pocket, leaving the one that controlled spatial travel. THERE IS AN INFINITELY SMALL CHANCE OF YOU ENDING UP WHERE YOU DESIRE.

"That's not encouraging," Adric said.

Susan shook her head. "I have an advantage. I am related to Death. He doesn't need the die to return home, and neither do I. If we end up somewhere incorrect, I can bring us back in an instant."

"What if it's somewhere dangerous?"

THE DIE CARRIES ALONG A BUBBLE OF ATMOSPHERE. THERE WILL BE A GRACE PERIOD BEFORE YOU ARE SUBJECTED TO DANGER.

"Shall we?" Susan asked Adric.

He shrugged. "If it works, will there be food where we go?"

She liked his thought process. "Yes."

"Then we might as well try."

They stood, and he picked up the tray while Susan took the die. Without fanfare, she dropped it, and the universe blinked.

The first sensation she felt was the brush of a cherry blossom against her cheek, and she smiled. "Looks like it worked."

Adric stared. "Where are we?"

A very old man who had been lounging under a nearby tree chewing on cherries got up and approached them. "Welcome to the Ramtops. My name is Lu-Tze. We have been expecting you."

--

"So Chula," the Doctor said. "Chula, Chula, Chula. Kind of like Tora, Tora, Tora. Did I ever tell you the Chula are fairly war-like? Well, not fairly, more like, have Daleks as role models but are still cuddly."

"No." Cuddy said, tapping her fingers on the console and shooting Jack an evil look. "I thought you said they were an advanced race that got along with other species. No one ever mentioned that they like to-- what are Daleks?"

There was an awkward silence until Ianto wandered in with a tray. "Coffee, anyone?"

"Yes, please!" the Doctor grabbed a mug, nearly spilling it when the tray dropped away as Jack reached out. Ianto swiveled smoothly and handed Jack's intended mug to Cameron. All three doctors gaped at the sudden burst of action, but the Doctor returned to the console and said, "So I've been putting a lot of thought into where we should go--"

"What are Daleks?" Cuddy repeated.

"--go, uh, _go_ to and I think that it would be fantastic if Jack explained where he once got a Chula warship _and_ ambulance from."

"That was a lifetime ago," Jack said. "Well, for you anyway. Me, more like two thousand give or take several hundred."

"Jack. Don't start."

"I'm not flirting with anyone!"

"That's not what I meant!"

"That's usually what you mean."

"You're dodging the question. Why are you dodging the question? The only reason to dodge the question is if you have something to hide."

"You're both dodging _my_ question," Cuddy said. They ignored her.

"I'm going to need some coffee to get through this story," Jack said, glancing at Ianto from the corner of his eye. It turned out there was one mug left, so he had not forgotten that he still had a professional relationship to maintain. Ianto handed the coffee over without batting an eye or offering an apology.

"Hold on," the Doctor protested. "I don't remember him signing an application."

"Application?" Jack asked, pausing as he lifted the mug to his lips.

"Ianto started a TARDIS coffee club," the Doctor said.

"Yeah," Chase replied, waving a little piece of paper. "I get stamps for every coffee, and each card holds ten."

"For what purpose?" Jack said, lowering the mug. "You can't trade it in for a free coffee. Everything's free."

"I just like the stamps. The Doctor has an entire room full of different ones!"

"So anyone not part of the club doesn't get coffee? Hey, I remember Ianto threatening to do this about half a year ago."

"It wasn't a threat, sir," Ianto replied. "It was a joke."

Chase crossed his arms. "Those stamps better not be a joke."

Jack shrugged. "I'll fill out a form later." He drank a mouthful and tasted something resembling a cross between grease and lighter fluid, which were memories he didn't care to revisit at the moment. He spat it all back out, choking, and the black liquid splashed across the TARDIS console, sending the Doctor into a frenzy of cleaning. "What the hell is this?"

"Coffee," Ianto said. "From the Doctor's supplies."

"This is not coffee!"

"Of course it is. It just doesn't come from the same stock reserved for members of the club."

"Give me a form now!"

"He's out," Cameron said. "I took the last one. Sorry."

"You're telling me there isn't a single printer on board the TARDIS?"

The Doctor glared at him as he pushed him aside and climbed beneath the grating to mop up the floor below.

"But you have everything but the kitchen sink aboard!"

"No," the Doctor said, wringing his rag out into a bucket, "I have everything _including_ the kitchen sink but _not_ a printer. Never found a use for one, and the ink was always low, even when I changed it. Thousand--uh, I mean, _nine hundred_--year old Time Lord, and I still don't understand the physics behind that phenomenon."

"Can't I be an honorary member?" Jack asked Ianto.

"No, sir. It would violate the charter and undermine trust."

"A prospective initiate?"

"That would involve helping me clean the Doctor's storage rooms. All seven hundred twelve of them, though those are only the ones I've found, and I'm not sure some of them aren't redundant."

"Hold on, hold on!" the Doctor clambered back up and grabbed Ianto's sleeve to prevent him from exiting, as he'd been edging toward the door leading to the sleeping quarters during the entire conversation. "You are not cleaning my storage. There's some dangerous equipment in there."

"No there isn't." Ianto smiled. "Unless you're talking about the contents of seven alpha four."

"Ah. So you found that room, did you?"

"That strikes me more as... kinky than dangerous."

"I'm on board," Jack cut in. He leaned against the console in a pose that was, in his opinion, thoroughly dashing. "Initiate it is!"

"A human wouldn't be able to grasp its true nature," the Doctor said quickly. "Well, don't let me keep you. I'm sure you're very, very busy. And stay out of that room! As for you, Jack, no more distractions! Tell your story."

"Well, it was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away..."

"No it wasn't."

"'Solar system far, far away' doesn't have the same ring to it."

"It's outer space. _Everything's_ far, far away," Cuddy said, giving him an exasperated look he thought she reserved only for House. With that thought, his mental barrier slipped a little, and House managed to get through, _You_ are _me, in a way. Isn't that disturbing? Hmm, maybe I'll pretend _I _got the orgasmatron working._

As tantalizing a thread of inquiry that last thought represented, Jack slammed House out of his mind, though he couldn't resist saying, "Orgasmatron?"

The Doctor choked, covering the console with a second spray of coffee. Jack wondered if that was what seven alpha four was all about. He hoped he could get to the room before Ianto did, though he wouldn't put it past him to have planned for the eventuality and moved the contents to another hiding spot upon discovering them.

"The story!" the Doctor and Cuddy snapped at the same time.

"I won it in an eating contest!"

Ianto's head appeared in the doorway, and it was clear he'd been lurking just out of sight. "_What?_ I've seen _Tosh_ eat more than you."

"A hundred years of Earth food gets old, all right?" Jack said. "I'm sorry if it isn't something exciting like an intergalactic con job or a robbery."

"Or payment for sex," Cuddy said. When she noticed Chase and Cameron's jaws drop, she reddened. "Did I say that out loud? Well, I'm sorry, but he _is_ very good at it. Stop staring at me. Daleks!"

Jack noticed Ianto's eyes narrow as he realized Cuddy had also been involved in the shenanigans in the factory, and he yelled, "Initiate! I'm an initiate, remember that!" To be honest, he did regret participating, and it wasn't just because Ianto seemed hell-bent on making him miserable. But if Ianto was going to be immature, then there was no point in Jack admitting it was a mistake, and he did believe he had done Wilson and House a service, which now that they were part of their mission, meant that he had increased the efficiency of their search. Assuming the two men weren't shagging like bunnies.

Ianto nodded. "Of course I remember, sir. I'll just go and make dinner, shall I?"

"I think it's only impressive if we know what they had to eat," Cameron said.

Jack knew telling the truth would be a mistake, but he also knew the Doctor would never let him hear the end of it if he didn't. "It was a curry-eating contest," he said, and he could _see_ the light bulb go off over Ianto's head as the man slipped off to "prepare" the evening's food. "You're not a servant, you know!" he yelled after him. "You don't have to make everything. There should be a rota!" Ianto did not deign to respond. "Damn it!"

"Wait," the Doctor said, "so where did the loser get the ships from?"

"Himself," Jack said. "He was a Chula."

"You managed to eat more _curry_ than a Chula. Are we talking about the spicy kind?"

"You could use the stuff to etch steel."

"Is that impressive?" Cameron asked. "The out-eating, I mean. 'Cause I have a friend who can't even make it through a poppadom."

"Chula practically invented curry," the Doctor said. "They made the early adopters look like laggards. Of course, the real credit goes to humans, but Chula probably own the patent at the Shadow Proclamation."

"I fail to see why this story took so much effort to pry from you, Captain," Cuddy said.

"Well, just imagine the state of his intestines after such an ordeal," the Doctor said. Jack scowled. "But that's a dead end. Any Chula betting away starships is likely a drifter or an aristocrat."

"Nouveau riche," Jack said.

"Which for the Chula mean an aristocratic drifter with nothing better to do."

"If I thought the story would help us any, I would've told it sooner." Jack tried his best to look wounded but knew it wasn't much. "But if the Chula adopted curry, then that means Earth was one of the planets they settled on."

"That is correct!"

"Then we know one time and place they'll definitely be."

"Can't do that," the Doctor said. "The Chula are advanced. Way advanced. I didn't want to say it in front of the other me, but they went into hiding as a pre-emptive attempt to avoid becoming a casualty of the Time War, and as far as I know, they succeeded. But knowing that battles would not be subject to any temporal restrictions, they had to protect their past as well as their present and future. As a result, they time-locked their entire history. There has been only one precedent for breaching a time lock and that was accidental. Also, the technology is anchored into the space-time continuum, meaning any breach could have dire consequences for the stability of the entire universe."

"That sucks," Chase said. "But I think I smell dinner."

Cameron rolled her eyes but somehow wheeled her way to the door faster than Chase could run. The others followed, and the Doctor patted Jack on the back. "I don't smell curry," he said.

Jack was surprised to discover hamburgers, and there weren't place settings, which meant that unless Ianto meant to poison everybody, he was safe.

"Don't look so surprised, sir," Ianto said as he brought over a plate of pickles. "I know it's not the usual fare, but I thought a change of pace would be nice, and hopefully it'll help our American friends settle in after their first day aboard."

"They've already had a day."

"Don't be pushy, Jack," the Doctor said. "Not everyone's from the 51st century." He slapped the bottom of the ketchup bottle but nothing came out.

"And you're clearly not from the 21st. Here, let me help you with that."

"Nuh uh!" He swung the bottle out of reach. "Time Lord, Jack. I can handle a bottle of mashed tomatoes." The bottle decided now was a good time to give in and emptied half its contents onto Cuddy's skirt.

"Doctor!" she screamed.

"Oops, sorry! Terribly sorry!" The Doctor snapped the cap back onto the bottle and threw it onto the table, whereupon it promptly slid across the surface and nailed Cameron in the nose. "Let me help you with that!" He grabbed a napkin and pressed down. Then he realized he had a hand between Cuddy's legs and yelped, falling backward and knocking his chair over onto Jack's foot.

Pain shot up his leg, and he cradled the foot, hopping up and down. He hated getting injured. It hurt almost as much as getting killed but lasted much longer, as no magical healing occurred afterward.

"Three lefts and a right is the laundry," Ianto said, pointing Cuddy down a hall.

"Doesn't that bring me back here?" she said.

"Not in the TARDIS, it doesn't."

Meanwhile, Chase had wrapped a towel around some ice cubes, and Cameron cradled the compress against her face. "I feel settled in already," she said.

"Sorry!" the Doctor repeated, righting his chair. "Just a little-- _whoa!_" As he tried to sit down, his foot landed in a pool of ketchup, sending him flying into the next room over. "I'm all right!" he said after a resounding crash. "Not regenerating!"

Chase took a bite of his burger. "This is quite good."

"Thank you," Ianto replied. "So how _are_ you enjoying your first day?"

"Is it normal to spend so long in the time vortex?" Cameron asked.

"No," Jack said as he wiped the floor clean. "The Doctor's stalling."

"I believe the more accurate term is limping," the Doctor said as he staggered back into the room. "And remind me never to buy any more furniture from IKEA. I always lose the little screws, and then everything falls apart on top of you when you least expect it."

"That why you had to make your screwdriver sonic?" Jack asked. "'Cause it would explain so much."

"So we could've spent our time debating where to go in some tropical paradise and we didn't?" Chase said. "I hate to say this, but standing around and talking while that little column keeps going up and down is really distracting."

"I rather like the décor in the console room, though," Ianto said. "It's very soothing."

"Thank you," the Doctor said. "And yes, I'm sorry about that, but I didn't want anyone to think I was distracting us from our mission, and I'm telling you, any time we go to a resort-type, someone always insists on going sunbathing, and no one ever listens when they're sunbathing. You might think they are, but you're only fooling yourself."

Cuddy re-entered wearing jeans just as the Doctor made a second attempt at the ketchup. She took the bottle. "Let me, please."

"So where _are_ we going?" Jack said. "I mean, I was hoping you'd have some idea as to where the Chula went. Don't the Time Lords monitor everything?"

"We were a bit busy, Jack."

"But you're the Doctor! You always have an idea."

"I'm trying to think!"

"So we're going to sit around waiting for a flash of brilliance?" Cameron said. "It's not like God's going to show up and point us in the right direction."

"Be nice, wouldn't it?" the Doctor replied, grinning.

A gong-like bell rang, and Jack saw the Doctor stiffen.

"I didn't know the TARDIS was a clock too," Cuddy said.

"It isn't." The Doctor got to his feet as the bell clanged a second time. "That's the cloister bell. Something's--"

The TARDIS rocked with the force of an earthquake, knocking them all to the floor as the table overturned and everything not nailed or glued to a part of the room decided to defy gravity. Jack grabbed Ianto and pulled him out of the way just as the refrigerator slid past where he'd been. The lights went out to the sound of a sickening crunch, like bones breaking, and then everything went still again.

"What just happened?" Jack asked. He could feel Ianto trembling, but the man broke off to check on the others.

"Something impossible!" the Doctor replied, shining his screwdriver at the roof.

"Quick, apologize to God!" Chase hissed at Cameron.

Cuddy shook Jack off. "I'm fine."

"Everyone's fine," Ianto reported from Chase and Cameron's side.

The Doctor dashed into the control room, and the rest of them followed. The central console glowed green, but the rest of the lights remained off. A few sparks flew from below the grating, but they looked to be from non-critical components.

"No, no, no, no, no!" the Doctor said. "It can't be. We were knocked out of the time vortex!"

"Is that possible?"

"Yes, but nothing with the capability to attack a TARDIS travels the time vortex anymore."

"See? You pissed off God!" Chase said.

"Maybe He's showing us the way," Cameron snapped back.

"This was not a benevolent action," the Doctor said. "It looks like we _struck_ something. The TARDIS can recover, but it'll take time. However, that amount of energy released into the time vortex will have caused a paradox."

"So what's outside?" asked Ianto.

"We're not going outside. That's final."

Chase frowned. "What's outside, Doctor?"

"You can't find out."

"That's ridiculous," Cuddy said. "Are you always this secretive?"

"Only when he needs to be," Jack said. "You better listen."

The Doctor sighed. "It's... it's spoilers, all right? We're on Earth. Dusseldorf, Germany, if the sensors haven't been damaged."

"Well, that's fine. We'll just avoid newspapers, unless one of us is going to Germany."

"No, it's not that. I'd be fine with us going to Earth, but this is your _future_. Your near future and... my... my very recent past."

"I fail to see the point." Cuddy headed for the door.

"No, stay away!" the Doctor chased after her, but it was too late. Cuddy flung open the doors and gasped. The Doctor ran into the wall to avoid crashing into her and falling out of the TARDIS. "There are things you aren't supposed to know," he gasped. "Do you understand, now?"

Cameron wheeled herself over. "I don't see anything. It's just night time."

"Stop!" the Doctor held a hand up, but it was too late. Cameron looked up, and her jaw dropped.

Even at a distance, Jack could see Cuddy shivering. Neither he or Ianto made a move, knowing that when the Doctor meant business, they should listen. "This is horrible," Cuddy said. "You were going to keep us in the dark about this."

"I fixed it. Me and others, we fixed it." But there was pain in the Doctor's voice of a sort Jack hadn't heard since the Doctor recounted how he lost Rose. "It's only for a short time, and it'll be all right."

"How is that all right? How can this _possibly_ be all right?"

Chase had been shifting on his feet the whole time, as though debating whether to go and see. Finally, he stepped forward. "Oh my god. There are planets in the sky!"

Jack and Ianto exchanged glances. Then Jack heard a voice he had hoped never to hear again anywhere near Earth, and something must have shown on his face, because Ianto was by his side immediately.

"It's all right, sir. It's all right."

But it wasn't. Cold dread gripped him, and he clung to Ianto's arm as cries of "Exterminate" drifted through the open door. Realizing there was no point in hiding any longer and deciding that if Daleks invaded Earth in the near future, Ianto should be as well informed as possible, Jack moved toward the door. The sun and moon were nowhere to be seen, but innumerable planets drifted in their place. Clouds of flame and laser beams illuminated the darkness as Daleks blasted apart the emergency response Bundeswehr fighters.

"I'm so sorry," the Doctor said, looking at Cuddy. "I had hoped you would never have to know what a Dalek was."

--

Several gargoyle heads exploded as the stolen TARDIS shuddered and lurched, sending Donna sprawling across an almost nude statue. "I really need to redecorate," she said, the tip of a fig leaf poking her in the face. "Or just clean. Putting everything in garbage bags will do this place wonders _aaaaaah!_"

Another tremor sent her flying in the other direction, and the statue fell over, shattering into pieces. "This is bonkers!" she groaned, grabbing the console with a death grip so the TARDIS wouldn't buck her off. She shifted a few levers and read the print-out on the two screens that weren't displaying static. "You idiot! Stupid, idiot computer." There was a whine, and she patted a round green thing as though it were her pet. "Aww, I don't mean you. Just the auto-pilot program."

It was disheartening to think she had come _this_ close to finding the Doctor, and rather than letting her know, the computer had decided to plow right into him. They'd be lucky if the energy from the collision didn't rip a hole through one or two dimensions, and she thought the Time Lords would've been smart enough to build in protections against this sort of thing. "I guess high and mighty Time Lords don't tailgate."

The TARDIS made one final, valiant effort to recover and failed. The central column ground to a stop and the lights went out. Donna banged on the console, remembering the Doctor always tried that as a last resort. There was no response, so she felt her way through the darkness until she reached the door. If she was stuck, she might as well meet the neighbors. The last readings before the power failed suggested she hadn't damaged the universe, so hopefully she wasn't in the middle of a paradox or something.

She pulled the lever for the door, but it seemed to be having trouble. She went over to push on it and after a moment it gave way. She stepped out and was nearly blinded by reflecting light.

_Oh god, it's even worse than I'd feared_, she thought.

--

The sound a materializing TARDIS makes is the sound the universe would make if it were to collect and organize itself long enough to do so. In the entirety of time and space it is a wholly unique sound, and to the lucky few who have heard it before, it is recognizable in an instant. 

Nearly everyone on the starship Heart of Gold jumped (except for Marvin, who didn't have the necessary knee joints) when the sound echoed ominously through the huge, white hull of the ship for the second time in under twenty minutes. 

"Impossible!" said the Doctor. "The odds of randomly encountering two active TARDISes in the same place is... at least..."

"600916802234 to one against," intoned Marvin.

"Improbable, then, not impossible," said Trillian.

"Well, yes," the Doctor conceded. Everyone but the Doctor was instinctively looking around for another big, blue, police box.

"Are you sure yours isn't just malfunctioning?" said House suspiciously. The Doctor spluttered something.

"Hey!" exclaimed Zaphod. "Tril, did you pick up a new couch and not tell me? Because this is amazing!" He bounced up and down on a white couch that looked just like all the others.

"Uh oh," said the Doctor.

"Most other TARDISes use a sort of cloaking device to hide their presence," Sarah Jane started to explain.

"Yes, very helpful, except it means you have to remember _exactly_ where you parked it, and I like mine just fine the way it is thanks very much," said the Doctor quickly.

"What's going on?" said Zaphod wildly. Everyone looked at him in confusion and then alarm as the couch cushion he was sitting on was thrown off, sending him sprawling on the floor. He quickly picked himself up and brushed himself off.

A red-headed woman crawled out of the space where the cushion had been.

"That's pretty improbable," Trillian remarked. 

"Not so much," the Doctor said, sighing. 

The new woman looked around, spotted the Doctor's TARDIS, and said, "Alright, where's the flippin' Doctor? I need to speak with him RIGHT NOW." This was punctuated with a stamp of her foot. House pointed quickly. She looked and appraised the tall, bescarfed man.

"You're the Doctor?" she said.

"Yes, hello, and you are?" he said brightly. 

"... Alright, I suppose. Stranger things have happened," she said, ignoring his question. "I need a different Doctor. Tall, skinny, glasses sometimes. Chatty in a really irritating way. Know him?" 

"Er."

"I don't know if he's you in the past or future, see, and I need to speak with him _urgently_."

"I think he's the one with Jack," said Tosh.

"Jack? Handsome fellow, really flirty? I'm Donna by the way," said the redhead.

"You know him?" asked Tosh, surprised.

"Sure. Only met him briefly, mind you, and we were in a bit of a situation; not much room for chit chat, you know. You know where the Doctor is? My Doctor, I mean," said Donna.

"No," said House. "And please shut up."

Donna stomped over to him. "Ex_cuse_ me? And who are _you_ to tell me something like that? Mind your manners!" She slapped him across the face. Owen laughed.

"Look," said the Doctor. "I can't take you to see him, I don't know where he is. But we will be meeting up with him eventually if you want to come with us." She thought it over for a moment. 

"Fine," she said. "We're leaving now, then. No time to waste. How many of you are traveling with the Doctor?" Owen, Tosh, Sarah Jane, and Wilson raised their hands. House rolled his eyes and raised his cane. "Wow, do you usually travel with enough people for an orgy?" she asked the Doctor. 

He grinned at her. "Only under special circumstances," he said. 

"Fine. The rest of you, _do not touch that couch_," she said. "It's mine and I'll need to pick it up later. Bye!" 

"Wait," said Owen. "I don't want to leave yet!"

"Too damn bad! We're leaving! Hustle!"

--

Dimitri DeLovely slumped casually in an ornate wooden chair, one leg slung over the side and his chin resting delicately on his other fist. From its place atop a dais at the end of the hall, the chair overlooked the entire room. He frowned contemplatively at the tapestries on the wall. A smallish man in a neat but informal black outfit squirmed but maintained his slightly bowed position.

Neither man spoke for several long seconds.

Finally, Dimitri turned his gaze back to the little man. "Is that all?" he said. The man, who went by the name of Gordon Rothgard, started.

"N-no, my lord. I have information that Commander Vimes of the City Watch is personally leading this case."

Dimitri waved a hand dismissively. "Is that all?" he said in a bored tone. "I remember the Watch. They were a sad bunch of lazy, corrupt incompetents. They'll be no trouble." Rothgard gaped at him.

"With all due respect my lord, the last time you were in the city was nearly thirty years ago. Have you not heard the rumors? This Vimes character has shaped the Watch into an impressive force. They say he cannot be bribed, that he's straight as an arrow. They say he single-handedly stopped a war and that he fought a dragon! They say the Watch is huge under him. They say there's a werewolf, an Igor, and even a vampire in the Watch."

Dimitri stared impassively through drifts of shiny black hair. "A vampire?" He grinned, showing off elongated canines. "Interesting." Pause. "It doesn't matter though. He's not important. It is Vetinari I'm interested in. How much does he suspect?"

"With all due respect, my lord, I wish you would please consider my advice on this. Commander Vimes could prove a danger to us." Rothgard was trembling visibly under the weight of Dimitri's stare. 

"Fine," said Dimitri after a pause. "Gather a group to investigate him, bring me back any information you can find out, and have a spy infiltrate this Watch, of course." His voice then took on an underlying tone of satisfaction. "Now tell me about Vetinari," he purred. 

"It's difficult, my lord. Our spy made it into the Palace, but getting anywhere near Lord Vetinari is proving next to impossible. He stays in his office all day, my lord! We don't even know when he sleeps! It's nearly impossible to tell if he suspects anything, though rumors are that he has a person everywhere, that he always knows what's going on in his city before anyone else."

"It's a good thing we're not in the city then, hmm?" Dimitri's grin was slightly feral now.

"Er, yes, my lord..."

"You speak as though he never leaves the Palace, but he must. He's the Lord of the city, he must attend public functions and the like."

"Oh, he does, my lord. He never takes any bodyguards with him either, it is most peculiar."

"I suspect it's because he thinks bodyguards would be quite useless anyway," mused Dimitri. "I've heard he graduated from the Assassin's Guild school."

"That's what everyone says, my lord," said Rothgard earnestly. "But I cannot find any record of it. No one can prove it. In fact, it seems like no public records even exist of Vetinari before he became Patrician."

"He must have gone to great lengths to make that so," said Dimitri. He looked like a wild cat intent on its prey. 

"Indeed, my lord," Rothgard agreed. 

"I do not like this consistent lack of helpful information," growled Dimitri. "Place another spy in the Palace. Make it one of the, ah, _special_ ones if you have to. Get what I want and get it fast."

"Y-yes, my lord," squeaked Rothgard.

"One more thing," Dimitri said as Rothgard turned to go. Rothgard froze. "Where is Dante? I have not seen him all day."

"I expect he'll be back soon, my lord."

"Good. You are dismissed." Rothgard walked out of the room as fast as possible and Dimitri stared vacantly at the far door.

So there was another nuisance he had to watch out for, hmm? Commander Vimes. Ah well. He'd been planning for this for decades, and nothing could stop him now. Vetinari was his biggest worry, anyway. He'd _heard things_ about Vetinari.

He smiled grimly.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. His Plan was perfect, it accounted for every contingency, he had recruited the best minions, and most importantly, he had planned everything _himself_. Only his brother had been in on the planning--no one else under him knew everything, and that was key.

If everyone was kept a little in the dark, no unlikely betrayers could bring down the Plan. 

Nothing could possibly happen. 

Ankh-Morpork would be razed to the ground.

--

The _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ has this to say about the Discworld: "Probability says that it can't exist. Therefore, it almost certainly does."


	22. Chapter 15: Divine Heroin Muffins

**Chapter 15**

**Divine Heroin Muffin**

The Doctor slammed the door shut, drowning out cries of "Exterminate!" As though something had been seriously constricting his lungs and only now let go, Jack found himself able to breathe again. He grabbed the Doctor's coat.

"I thought you said the Daleks were wiped out. _Twice_."

"I time-locked this event," the Doctor snarled. "It's not just that we shouldn't, and theoretically couldn't, be here. This could undo everything we accomplished."

"It's too late for that, sir," Ianto said. "We're here, and we've seen what's outside. We should be there, helping people."

Jack grimaced. "Did you swap brains with Gwen before we left?"

"I'm not heartless, sir!"

"We are not going out there!" the Doctor yelled. "You already know too much."

"Ianto's right," Cameron said. "If we already know too much, there's no harm in finding out more. Sort of like passing the point of no return."

The Doctor shook his head. "You go out there, you're dead! I don't have weapons on board, and the Daleks never detected a second TARDIS when I was here. The fact that all systems are down protects us for now, but if they discover us, the course of history _will_ be changed, and it _must not_. The time lock exists for a reason! Do you understand what would happen if any Dalek escapes, or if they manage to execute their plan because of our interference? There is more at stake than the life of any single human or group of humans."

"How much time would we have between the TARDIS recovering and the Daleks detecting us?" Ianto asked nonchalantly. Jack knew better than to answer a question posed like that, but the Doctor didn't.

"About a minute." The Doctor stared. "Oh, no you don't!"

Ianto ran over and threw the door open, but Jack followed hot on his heels. "More than enough time to get back."

Jack grabbed him. "No."

"This is not a Torchwood matter, sir."

"I'm not telling you as your boss." Jack hesitated, but no matter how angry Ianto might be with him, the man would not ignore reason. "I'm telling you as someone who can't die. I'll go and see what I can do."

"Jack!" The Doctor strode over, pointing his sonic screwdriver at the doors. They shuddered but refused to close. "Even the TARDIS! Why does no one listen to me?"

"Doctor, you know you can trust me with the future, so why not just give in to the inevitable and let me go?"

"Then you're not going alone. I'm coming with you."

"What? What if the Daleks recognize you?"

The Doctor grinned. "I'll hide behind you. _I'm_ not immortal, you know."

Jack turned to Ianto. "Satisfactory?"

He looked ready to argue, but he stepped back and let Jack shut the door on him. The Doctor sighed. "This is a terrible idea, I'll have you know."

"You know you want to." Jack winked.

"Ianto can still see us on the monitor inside."

"Why do you _always_ think I'm flirting?"

"Because you are. Allons-y."

They jogged a ways down the street, but it was deserted. While the dogfight continued to rage in the skies, there was no sign of life at all on the ground, not even shattered car windows or flames to indicate looting. There was a distinct lack of screaming as well.

"Maybe the Daleks didn't bother invading this area," the Doctor commented. "They weren't exactly interested in subjugating Earth. Just... finding test subjects."

"That sounds so much more pleasant. What about the lack of rioting?"

"People decided to behave properly for once?"

"Unlikely."

They paused outside a building with the words "No Limits" on the front. Jack found the sign oddly appropriate. Peering inside, he found overturned tables and shattered glass littering the ground. "It's a bar," he said. "But no one's doing business. Funny. There's usually an unwritten rule that bars and churches are open during apocalypses. Otherwise what's the point?"

"You never struck me as the religious type, Jack."

"Apocalypses aren't really my thing. I'm usually one of the people trying to prevent them." He was surprised to see the Doctor enter, but he followed him in. "Shouldn't we be looking around?"

"The chairs aren't up, which means it's not closed. It was daytime when they stole the Earth, so where are all the people?"

Jack reluctantly followed him in, but as they entered there was a faint crunch from behind the counter, too soft to be purposeful, more like someone shifting their weight. Jack would never have heard it if he wasn't trained to be aware of such things, and he knew the Doctor had more heightened senses than the average human. He shook his head at the time lord when he began heading over to investigate, but the Doctor scoffed. "Daleks aren't that short."

The next instant, the Doctor vanished, a cry of surprise muffled as he fell. Jack leapt over the counter, suppressing the desire to yell. A man grabbed his leg, breaking his momentum and slamming him to the ground. A hand covered his mouth until he had the sense to stop struggling.

"Shut up," the man said, and Jack looked over to see the Doctor unrestrained, grinning and fiddling with his screwdriver. "You'll attract attention." Jack looked back at the German and took in his appearance. It was a sort of classic, chiseled look, hair swept back as though both combed and blowing in the wind. He possessed a strong grip, definitely worked out. Jack grinned.

"Captain Jack Harkness," he said, offering a hand.

The man took it to help him into a sitting position. "Gregor Mann," he replied, looking a little confused at the overwhelming friendliness. Jack wondered if he should tone down the smile a little.

The Doctor groaned. "Not _now_, Jack." Redirecting his attention: "Daleks have been here?"

Gregor nodded. "They swept the streets right after it went dark. We got everyone upstairs in time, but now they're doing fly-bys of windows."

"Then we better get upstairs."

"Not yet!" His eyes narrowed, and he began looking like the sort of dangerous post-apocalyptic survivalist Jack had been concerned about when they first heard the noise. "My brother's still out there."

The Doctor wilted a little. "I'm sorry, but he's either stuck or dead and there's no point looking for him until the crisis is over."

"That's not what I meant. He went to keep a look-out." He frowned. "You think this will end well?"

"I know it will." That was part of what Jack liked about the Doctor: even when the odds were against him, he could make you believe it would be all right. In this case, he had cold hard facts on his side, assuming their presence wasn't a critical strain on the timeline, and this was enough to put even a stranger at ease. Gregor nodded and returned his attention to the front door.

The briefest flash of a reflection preceded the arrival of a young man in orange, which Jack decided was not the stealthiest choice of clothing, even when there were planets in the sky shining weird colors. The door slammed against the wall and bounced back, knocking him over into a chair. He went down with a loud clatter and exclaimed, "Shit!"

Gregor dashed round the counter and tried to help him up, but the man instead pulled him to the ground just as a Dalek death ray lanced through the door straight past where he'd been standing.

"I got spotted."

"I can tell. Run!"

"Setting one-thirty-seven," the Doctor said, handing the screwdriver to Jack. "Will meld the door shut."

Gregor paused halfway in their scramble up the stairs and yelled back, "No one's melting my door!"

It was too late. Jack was already playing the sonic beam over the edges of the door as the Doctor joined the other two in the rush upstairs. When he'd completed one circuit, he turned the screwdriver off and ran. A beam blasted through the door, glancing him across his side, and he collapsed as a wave of pain swept through him like fire.

The man in orange tried to leap back down the stairs to help him, but the Doctor grabbed his arm and dragged him away. "He'll be fine!"

"Yeah, it's only a flesh wound," Jack snapped. He shook himself, hoping to lessen the residual tingling that felt like ants crawling up his rib cage. As soon as he regained control of his legs, he started running.

"Halt!" the Dalek demanded in a cold, electronic voice that still sent shivers up his spine. "Any human who resists will be exterminated."

Jack rounded the corner and crashed into the three waiting for him. "Keep going! Stairs don't stop them, you know!"

"I told you this was a bad idea," Gregor hissed at his brother. "But you have to run off and play hero!"

"Was I supposed to sit around and wait for them to come for us?"

"Shut up!" Jack said. He sneaked a glance around the corner and saw the Dalek had floated halfway up the stairs. "Get going."

An explosion rocked the building, and a door down the hall burst open amidst a gust of wind and debris. Several screams followed, the voices sounding thin and empty due to the now-open acoustics of the building.

"That's your flat," Gregor said.

"You know the plan," his brother replied.

"That's suicide. Remember what I just said about playing the hero?"

"Go!"

Gregor grimaced but obeyed. "What are you doing?" the Doctor protested as the man grabbed both of them and pushed them through the door opposite the room the Daleks were in. "You don't know what you're doing. Those Daleks will kill everyone!"

"You have any weapons?" Gregor asked.

The Doctor spluttered indistinctly.

"Then looks like you're no better off than us. Keep out of sight or you'll get my brother killed."

"But--"

Jack wrapped one arm around the Doctor to stop him from struggling and put his other hand over his mouth. The Doctor glared, but Jack said, "He's right. Whatever they have planned, they'll _definitely_ be dead if we interfere now." The Doctor stopped moving, and for a moment, Jack found the warmth of their proximity rather distracting. Then the Doctor bit him, and he stifled a cry as he let go and cradled his hand.

"I know what you were thinking, Jack," the Doctor whispered.

"No such thing," he replied, trying to look scandalized, but from experience with Ianto, he knew it just made him look like he was leering.

"Hey, flying trash can, over here!" a voice came from across the hall, sounding like a kid trying out cuss words for the first time rather than someone in a fight to the death, and Jack had to wonder what sort of person felt bad about insulting a Dalek. There was a dull thud, followed by the whoosh of an energy field, but despite the lack of damage, whatever had been thrown succeeded in attracting the Dalek's attention.

"You will stop throwing remotes at a Dalek. You will be exterminated for this offence."

"Catch me first." A man darted through the doorway and stopped when he turned the corner, back pressed against the wall as he waited for the Dalek to appear.

"What's he doing?" the Doctor asked, shifting his weight between his feet as he crouched behind the door frame. Jack put a hand on his shoulder--to prevent him from bolting, of course. The time lord felt kind of boney; he would not, Jack guessed, be comfortable to lie on. That was 

"You need to eat more," Jack commented. Gregor glared at him, while the Doctor merely looked confused.

"I just... have a high metabolism," he said.

"_Shhhh_!"

"It'd help if you told us the plan."

"Olli has a theory that there's one weapon that can get through their force fields."

The Doctor gaped. "No! They're not seriously going to try that? But that... oh, that's _clever_. Clever but horribly risky."

"You think?" The Doctor's boniness was probably the only thing keeping Gregor from taking him by the shoulders and shaking him.

The Dalek exited the room right as the other finished its ascent. Both men stepped into view and raised their hands, but Daleks did not take aggressive prisoners. "Exterminate!" they cried as one, and taking that as their cue, both men ducked.

Twin rays crossed paths and zoomed onward straight into the opposing Dalek. Both exploded in a burst of flame. Modulated screams died away as the fires fizzled out. Jack realized he was holding his breath and let it out. Realizing their plan had succeeded, the dark-haired one from the room ran over and pulled Gregor's brother into an embrace, lifting him off the ground as they cheered. Then he lost his balance, and they crashed into the wall. Gregor joined them, pumping his fists into the air, while Jack and the Doctor approached more slowly.

"That was impressive," the Doctor said. "Hi, I'm the Doctor."

"What sort of introduction is that?" Gregor asked, but the other two didn't seem to mind.

Lowering Gregor's brother to the ground, the polite-to-Daleks one offered a hand: "Olli."

"Christian," the other one said, rubbing the back of his head where he'd struck the wall.

"Captain Jack Harkness," Jack said, taking Olli's hand before the Doctor could. "That was some fast thinking."

"We've had time to sit around," Olli replied, oblivious to his charms. "Come on, let's go make sure the others are all right."

They moved past the remains of the Dalek blocking the door and entered their flat. A blonde-haired woman crouched in the kitchen while a brunette stood by the blasted windows, holding a chainsaw.

"Where'd you get that?" Christian asked, eyebrows coming together.

"My boss asked me to buy it to replace the one that broke at the construction yard."

"I see..."

"The dangerous one is Judith," Olli said, pronouncing the "J" as a "Y" despite the TARDIS translator. "And that's Lydia. This is the Doctor and Captain Jack Harkness."

"Hello." The Doctor waved. "Judith, you might want to move back a few steps."

Judith obeyed, then looked outside and saw a Dalek rising into view. She screamed, but the Dalek fixed its eyestalk on the Doctor.

"The Doctor!" it exclaimed as it landed. "Exterminate!"

"Don't think so," the Doctor replied, grabbing his screwdriver from Jack and swinging it at the ruined Dalek in the doorway. There was a squeal as its weapon summoned the last of its energy reserves and fired at the Dalek in the window, which burst into flames. Part of its shell shattered, but the damage wasn't nearly as extensive as in the hall. "Ugh, there wasn't enough power left!"

With a roar, Judith brought her chainsaw down on the Dalek and shoved it back outside, where it plummeted several stories and exploded in the street below.

"Well, that's one way of handling it," the Doctor said, lowering his screwdriver.

"Who _are_ you?" asked Lydia.

Christian crossed his arms. "Any other helpful devices we should know about?"

"How long has the invasion lasted?" the Doctor asked Olli.

He shrugged. "Several hours, I'd say."

The Doctor ran to the window--or hole in the wall--and peered at the sky. "Then that means..." The chainsaw rumbled as Judith accidentally pressed the trigger, and she swung it away from the Doctor as he yelped and jumped back. "Watch that thing! Uh, ah... _yes_! I think they're returning to the Crucible!" He shoved Jack aside as he dashed out and down the stairs.

"To the _what_?" Jack yelled. He jogged after him.

"You're not supposed to know, anyway!"

He caught up with the Doctor outside No Limits, where the time lord was peering up with a hand shading the left side of his face from the lights in the bar. "It was too bright up there. Couldn't see properly."

"It melted my door!" Gregor protested, and Jack saw that he had followed them down, along with Christian and Olli.

"I think the hole in our flat will be a bit more expensive to fix," replied Christian.

"Well, at least you'll be able to fix it," the Doctor said. The others came over and looked into the sky, watching as bright lights that were individual Daleks drifted away, from discernable shapes into pinpoints into nothing at all. "It'll be over soon, and then we'll be towing the Earth back to its rightful place."

"We?" Gregor said.

"Yes, well, that's kind of hard to explain."

"Try me."

"I'm an alien, all right? I travel through time and space, so while I'm down here, there's a past version of me up there, well, two of me, actually, taking care of things."

"Two of you?" Jack felt his heart pound. "There are three of you present in one go?"

"Jack?"

"Yes?"

"No. Just no."

"Oh my god, help!" someone screamed. Jack whirled around to see a dark-haired woman in heels run around the corner, clutching a purse in one hand and a crowbar in the other. It was evident she'd spotted them as she was running straight for them. "Help me!"

"Olivia?" Olli said, dashing over to meet her.

"Olli!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad to see you! I was on my way over here when those, those _things_ appeared..."

"Friends?" the Doctor asked.

"Cousin," replied Christian in a flat tone.

"Well, it's all right now. They're leaving, see?" Olli pointed into the sky, where an orange spot was growing larger.

"That looks like it's coming closer," she replied.

The Doctor squinted. "That would be because it's a plane. On fire. Headed our way. Run, run, _run_!"

Jack instinctively headed for the TARDIS, even though the plane was falling in the same direction. The smarter choice would've been to go the other way and pass underneath the falling jet before it reached the ground, but now, it struck and tumbled end over end, sliding closer and closer. Everyone followed his lead, and he slowed to let the others pass him, knowing he shouldn't be the one blocking the doorway if it came down to a last second entry. Olivia made remarkable time, outrunning them all even with her footwear, though he suspected the other men were being almost as stupidly gallant as himself. He could hear the flames of the jet roar as they consumed its leaking fuel and feel their heat licking at the back of his neck as the Doctor sprinted the last few meters, one hand pushing Olivia aside and the other outstretched with the TARDIS key...

--

As soon as Jack and the Doctor left, Ianto pulled up the TARDIS monitor to watch them creep down the street. Cuddy felt this was a useless endeavor but didn't have the heart to tell him to stop. Meanwhile, Chase was trying to teach his new robot pet tricks, which given that it was a five-foot spider-like monstrosity with blades on its feet, did not seem like the best idea in the world.

"Roll over, Joey! Come on, roll over!"

Cameron screamed as the droid tumbled backward into her wheelchair, taking them both down with a clang. "Damn it, Chase, it isn't a dog!"

"She _could_ be one if she wanted to," Chase retorted as the droid scurried back to his side after helping Cameron up. "Aw, good girl. It wasn't your fault."

"That might not be a bad idea, turning into a dog," Cuddy said. "If we ever leave the TARDIS, you'll probably attract attention if she travels undisguised with you."

"It projects hallucinations," Cameron reminded her, "it doesn't shape-shift. No dog is as big as that thing."

Joey ignored her and turned into a baby golden retriever with glistening eyes. She pawed at the floor in her direction, and Cameron glared back. "Try again. Something bigger."

The dog transformed into an adult giraffe.

"Not quite that big."

An elephant.

"Still smaller."

A Siberian tiger.

"Hmm..." three of them said at the same time. Ianto continued staring at the screen but glanced over when he noticed the sudden silence.

"I don't think that's going to help with the 'let's not get noticed' problem," he remarked.

"But it's _cool_," rebutted Cameron.

"And cute," Chase added. "Plus the claws remind us not to play with her feet."

"The blades are retractable." Ianto spoke from personal experience.

"So are claws."

"If you look away from the screen any longer, Jack and the Doctor might actually move out of sight," Cuddy said. She felt a twinge of guilt afterward for goading him like that; she couldn't keep using the trauma of the last couple days as an excuse for any inappropriate behavior, and if she did, she'd end up like House. She frowned and reflexively tugged at her blouse. That was a thought to keep her on the straight and narrow.

"They went into a building," Ianto replied.

"Sorry."

He sighed. "No need to apologize." Picking up a nearby chair, he took a seat beside her. "I've been acting immature anyway."

Cameron wheeled over to where he'd been standing and began typing on the keyboard. "Does that mean you're done with the console?"

"Yes. What are you going to do?"

"I want to see what he has installed."

"According to Joey, the last time you tried to hack a computer system, you nearly got us all killed," Chase said.

"I'm not _hacking_. Wow, he has just about every single video game ever made. And emulators for every system!"

Ianto and Chase perked up. Cuddy sighed. Men and their games... 

Cameron looked over as though guessing what she was thinking. "Don't knock it until you've tried it."

"I had a level seventy night elf ranger," Cuddy said. "But then I lost interest."

"Was this that week when House broke the MRI machine and you signed off on the replacement purchase order as 'McBooby'?" Chase asked.

"House did _what_?" Cuddy reached over for a desk drawer that was not aboard the TARDIS and felt her cheeks heat as she made a rude gesture instead to cover up the mistake.

Ianto smiled. "If you think that's bad, you should see Jack's annual personnel performance reviews."

Cuddy lifted an eyebrow.

"I rewrite everything when I enter them into the system, so it's all right."

She laughed. "That's what I do with House's too."

"Sounds like our jobs aren't that different."

"You still have to deal with aliens."

"You have to deal with lawyers."

The TARDIS doors burst open and six people tumbled through. Jack was last and kicked the door shut as a burst of flame shot through, accompanied by the squeal of metal against asphalt. The tail of his coat ignited, and Jack cursed as he shrugged it off and stamped on it. At that exact moment, the lights returned, and the TARDIS console hummed to life before an alarm went off, initiating a series of flashing red lights that should've given everyone seizures but miraculously didn't. A muffled explosion rocked the TARDIS, throwing Ianto into her lap. He scrambled away, eyeing Jack as though he'd been caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

"I didn't do anything!" Cameron said, pulling her hands away from the keyboard as fast as if they'd caught on fire.

"The TARDIS is back online, but the Daleks have detected us!" the Doctor explained as he leaned over her to bang on the panels. "Oooh, high score on pinball, very nice. Never did get the hang of that one myself."

"It's bigger on the inside," the new female arrival said, beaming as she looked around the room. Cuddy could feel a sexual harassment lawsuit coming up, even if the TARDIS was a machine.

"Forget that; is it safe to go back out, or will there be Daleks waiting?" the one in an orange shirt said, getting up and moving closer to the dark-haired man beside him in a definite violation of personal space. Cuddy sighed; it was always the attractive ones...

"No time for that!" The Doctor jiggled some levers. "We have to get out of here _now_!"

The TARDIS rumbled as the central column began moving. This was followed by the characteristic dilapidated-Disney-ride motion that accompanied short passages through the time vortex. Then came an unexpected creak and a groan, causing the room to jolt.

"That's not right," the Doctor said.

"How can you tell?" orange shirt yelled as he fell and rolled into the next room.

Sparks began flying from the console. The Doctor rubbed at some of the resulting ash and licked his finger. "Feels like that time you grabbed onto the outside, Jack."

"Daleks have latched onto the TARDIS?"

"'Like' as in similar to, but not precisely. I'm not sure..." A second jolt knocked the Doctor off balance. He clambered back and peered at the monitor. "Well, whatever it was, we lost it. The Daleks might have been trying to teleport us when we left, severing the connection."

"You don't sound very sure."

With one last shudder, the TARDIS settled down. The column stopped moving, which meant they'd landed. The Doctor rubbed his neck, grimacing. "That's because we got knocked out of the time vortex again."

"Let me guess," Ianto said. "We're in the middle of the Time War."

The Doctor grinned. "Nope. We're on Earth."

"After all that, we're back where we started?" Chase said. "Let's get going."

"Hold on, aren't you curious what's out there?"

"Not if the last time was anything to judge by!"

"Aw, come on, you don't even know the time period."

Orange shirt staggered back through the doorway, dripping wet. A pungent smell hit Cuddy's nostrils, like a combination of lavender and some cheap perfume like the kind usually sold at K-mart. "The zipper broke on someone's suitcase," he said.

His words hit Cuddy like a bucket of cold water. "Oh no!" she exclaimed. When everyone looked at her, she shook her head, "No, not mine; I don't use anything that smells half that bad." Cameron looked indignant, as though she'd just finished talking to House. "But we have to go outside now! I forgot to pack a toothbrush!"

--

Time does not move the same way on the Ramtops. In many senses, the mountains are the spine of the Discworld, and magic runs their length as electricity surges through nerves and neurons. As for time, it ebbs and flows. Like a river, there are places it rushes past, where a careless youth can fall asleep and wake a hundred years later, and there are other places it stands still, where you can try to establish a claim on the land but most likely a wise man has been squatting on it for millennia already.

Then there's the spot where a man once stood on the bank of the river of time and decided to build a dam. That man was Wen the Eternally Surprised, and that place is the monastery of the History Monks. One perfect spring day repeats there forever, and the cherry trees send out endless waves of blossoms. It'd be easy to protest the dam, but most people don't know about it, and those who do live downstream. Besides, the History Monks perform an important service: they make sure tomorrow continues to exist.

Susan and Adric followed Lu-Tze along the winding path to the monastery, and she couldn't help a smile when Adric noticed the snow on the other peaks. "This is so amazing!" he said as Lu-Tze explained where they were. "But there are so many things that are mathematically impossible."

"Ah. You are one of those scientific fellows, aren't you? Well, is it not written, 'Seeing is believing'?"

"Then by your logic, a performance is real too."

Lu-Tze shrugged. "Often they are believed."

"Your problem is trying to apply the logic of your world to ours," replied Susan. Not that the theorems he'd brought up during the conversation had made any sense to her, either, but she and Lu-Tze were not the ones having trouble accepting that the universe operated by one rule only--that there were no rules--and even that one it obeyed only on whim. "Lu-Tze, why were you expecting us?"

"But your world is part of the same universe as mine," Adric pressed on. "Therefore it must be subject to the same laws."

"And yet you accept that a talking skeleton teleported you here."

"What about you?" he asked Lu-Tze, clearly deciding Susan was a lost battle. "What is it that makes the Discworld so special?"

"A fish," Lu-Tze replied.

They were well into the monastery grounds now, and every monk they passed instinctively stopped to make room for Lu-Tze before noticing his guests, whereupon they gawked and began following. At this point, a sizeable crowd swarmed about them, a situation which became a problem when they reached a narrow rope bridge. The press of the group nearly sent one man over the edge, but blue light flashed about him as he sliced time to give himself room to react, then pushed through the people to safety.

When they set foot on the bridge, the others did not follow, but more monks lined the bridges that criss-crossed above and below them.

"The students following us do not have permission to view the mandala," Lu-Tze explained. "Though today, it would be better if even those who are allowed to see it stayed away. Of course, the prohibition of something just makes people more curious."

"Mandala?" Adric said.

Susan leaned over the railing, unperturbed by the swaying that resulted, and saw a vast sheet of sand flowing over a hundred feet below her in a flurry that reminded her of a maelstrom. Innumerable colors swirled in an abstract portrait as grains crashed in waves and danced to the rhythm of the universe. Monks hurried around on the ground level, monitoring changes and maintaining the huge drums that rotated beside the seething pattern. "Lobsang never spoke of this," she whispered, almost lost in the rush of activity, the beauty of raw power calling out to the part of her that wasn't quite human. For a moment, she felt a part of life, of time, in a way she never had while acting as Death, and it took her breath away.

"He knows better than to involve anyone in this. It is with utmost reluctance that I bring you here."

Susan grabbed Adric's arm, holding him as an anchor back to reality, and she forced herself to look away. Of course, the mandala was arguably more real than any of them, but it was too much for her mind to comprehend. Anything bigger than yourself might as well not exist at all; it operated on a completely different plane, and you might as well rage at a lightning storm.

"The mandala reveals patterns of time and space. The drums beside them are procrastinators. We have others that spin time, move it from where it is wasted to where it is needed, but these are for storing the pattern of the sand, so that we may replay any moment in history should the need for analysis ever arise."

"That's incredible," said Adric. "How does it work?"

Lu-Tze gave Susan a look that clearly said, _We're never going to get through to him, are we?_

"I'm sure the theory is beyond us," Susan said. "Lu-Tze is hundreds of years old and has devoted a lifetime to studying this."

"_Hundreds_? Are you a time lord?" Adric thought he looked hundreds of years old.

"I am a mere sweeper. We have an abbot, though."

"Not what I meant, but I guess that answers the question." 

"Very well." He raised his voice. "Replay the sequence from twenty-one hours ago."

The tableau froze as the procrastinators wound out. Susan found the sight of time flowing backward profoundly disturbing. It was as though all of her senses were screaming at her, but each relayed a story at odds with the others. When the sand began flowing again, she realized she was gripping the rope railing so tightly her knuckles were white. She let go, but it still felt wrong, because the story in front of her was not _now_.

"It's not another glass clock, is it?"

"No, absolutely not. But... I wish it was."

Susan felt her hair curl of its own volition.

"What's wrong with a glass clock?" Adric asked.

"A _totally_ glass clock. It stops time," Susan replied.

Lu-Tze smiled as though indulging a child. "That is one way to put it. A glass clock is so accurate it measures the fundamental time interval. The universal tick, so to speak."

"Planck time!" Adric exclaimed. "What appears continuous is actually discrete, as described in quantum theory. The infinite is actually finite, since there is a limit to how small something can get."

The sweeper beamed. "Yes, that is the general idea. But what happens when you gain that level of accuracy?"

"Well, on that scale, mere observation will change reality. So you're saying that if we could actually measure Planck time, it would freeze time, because your observation alters the nature of reality."

"Yes, and once time has frozen, you cannot undo the observation--"

"--Because the observer is part of the universe that has been frozen! It's sort of a paradox."

"Correct, but a resolvable one for beings that can step out of time."

"Step? That's impossible."

"And we were doing so well," Susan said.

All further debate ceased as a ripple of motion caught their eye. The collective intake of breath seemed to be the sound of light dying. Then there was silence.

A wave of black sand spread across the mandala like an ink blot staining the pattern, but the splotch grew and grew, obliterating everything, plunging everything into nothing. _This is what a nightmare looks like_, Susan thought. There was no silence, not even in the absence of life. There was no complete darkness, even in the absence of light. So long as the universe existed, there would be some small atom vibrating, some noise in the quantum foam of space and time. Only in the _mind_ did totality exist, absolute, bleak and unrelenting. Only the imagination could conceive of something so absolutely horrible.

_Life will swept away,_ the Auditors had said, _supplanted by complete illogic._ The belief field was failing. Discworld was dying.

The diversity of the mandala was gone, the entire floor covered in blackness. The sand shuddered, and she saw the grains had not become still. The realization was welcome, like a light at the end of a tunnel, and then at the edges, color creeped back in. The black collapsed in on itself and became the memory of a nightmare, rather than a living one. Susan felt a single tear fall from her eye and wiped it away before anyone could see.

"What does it mean?"

"It was an echo of the future, but it did not originate on the Disc."

"Death explained what the Auditors said on our way back to his domain," Adric said. "As... disturbing as it was to see the effects firsthand, this information is nothing new."

"But the _timing_ is." Lu-Tze waved a hand and the mandala froze again as the procrastinators wound backward even further. Susan braced herself for the horror again, but that was not what the patterns showed. Colors danced as usual, though something was out of place.

"It's turning dark," she said. "It's like... the picture is losing saturation, fading to grey."

"_That_ is the threat the Auditors warned you about. A weapon of the mind, consuming the universe and reshaping reality in the image of its dreams. The universe was moving toward such a future when something happened."

The mandala flashed, and the effects they'd witnessed reversed in the blink of an eye. The purity of the colors was startling, and then the pattern froze.

"What comes next, you have already seen."

Susan shut her eyes while the procrastinators moved forward in time, allowing the mandala to return to the present. Then she repeated, "So what does it mean?"

"It means that twenty-one hours ago, the first threat was resolved without your intervention."

"How anti-climactic. But what could be worse than that first threat?"

"An acceleration. Twenty-one hours ago, something eliminated the threat and at the same time made it infinitely worse. Before twenty-one hours ago, the threat manifested as a gradual progression in time. Think of mold spreading and growing on bread. Now, the future is in flux. One moment, the bread is freshly baked, and the next moment it is rotten to the core. Two realities are fighting each other for existence. Some time, and we cannot predict when, the other reality will win, unless we take action now and tip the balance the other way."

"The other reality is one in which the threat has already won. So it is the same threat, but a different execution. A different weapon, perhaps?"

"Exactly."

Susan sighed. "Thank you." She reached into her pocket and withdrew the die. Adric held out the tray.

"Where are you going?" Lu-Tze asked.

"To see what remains of the first threat, and where it vanished."

"Then take this with you, in case we do not meet again." Lu-Tze handed her a wrapped item the size of a clipboard but about two fingers thick. She tore off the wrapping paper--predictably featuring cuckoos--and stared.

"It's an etch-a-sketch!" exclaimed Adric, who had once spent a while playing with one on the TARDIS.

"A what?" The object looked like a picture frame, gray in the middle surrounded by a bright red border, with two ivory cylinders at the bottom two corners.

"You twist the knobs and lines will appear on the screen. Shake it and the picture clears."

Lu-Tze coughed. "That sounds like a toy!"

"It is..."

"Well, this is not a toy! Qu has spent years developing a miniature mandala."

Susan nearly dropped the object but managed to restrain herself. She held it at a distance, though, as if it were a poisonous snake. "We don't need one."

"It may come in handy. Believe me, we spent many weeks debating whether to give you one."

"What about wind-up procrastinators? For Adric, I mean, in case we run into something capable of freezing time. I believe I am immune, even on other worlds."

"The boy carries his own time, just as you do. I know not how, but the fact is evident to the trained eye."

She found herself staring at the boy with renewed curiosity. Who was he and how had he met Death? Perhaps there was more to this coincidence thing than she liked to admit.

Adric shrugged. "I'm from another universe. Maybe that's why."

"Ah," said Lu-Tze, "it is written, 'A fish out of water is still slippery.'"

"I wouldn't want to be a fish."

"Good luck, Susan and Adric. Should you have need of us, you will always be welcome in the monastery."

Susan nodded her appreciation and dropped the die. There was a clatter, and they found themselves beneath a willow tree. To their right, ducks drifted upon a pond. To their left, a gaping hole in the ground revealed the smoldering outlines of an underground facility. What looked like magma flowed hundreds of feet below the surface. Then she checked her surroundings and found a single white pillar on the horizon, shooting into the sky. Adric gasped.

"This is Earth. We're on Earth!"

"You know this place?"

"Washington DC. I've seen pictures on postcards." Adric peered down into the burning ruins. "_This_ does not belong here. I've never seen or heard of a similar facility on the entire planet."

"It looks like a factory."

Adric frowned, and he'd never looked so young. "We can't tell anything from this. Everything's slag."

"You're right. This is probably the right place but we're twenty-one hours too late."

"I don't see what we're supposed to do." His voice trembled. Susan remembered the mandala, the spreading blackness.

"I do," she replied, injecting as much resolve into her voice as possible. She put a hand on his shoulder and opened her fist to reveal the small white sphere in her palm. A blink, and they were standing in a field of golden wheat. "We're going to need both dice."

--

Every cloud might have a silver lining, Hector Barbossa reflected, but that didn't mean the clouds were any more welcome. The bathhouse was in an uproar following his return, and he was lucky Elizabeth's guards had not been as trusting as they'd seemed. If they hadn't followed him, someone might have accused him of pushing her off that cliff and he'd be at the end of a rope already. As it was, three eyewitnesses, including her first mate, had seen her leap shortly after he tried to stop her. Everyone loyal was scouring the beaches, hoping she would wash up, alive or dead.

Which, of course, meant no one was guarding Elizabeth's treasures.

He was halfway through his third flagon of rum, which was watered down so much it barely counted and tasted something like pureed parrot, when Pintel and Ragetti staggered into the bar, the ends of rolled up, yellowing manuscripts sticking out of sacks on their backs like peacock feathers. Spotting him, they headed straight for him, knocking a table over. Barbossa sighed. If they'd been caught in the bathhouse, he could've claimed they were idiots acting of their own accord, but now that they were here, he wondered if he shouldn't have arranged a better rendezvous point, like the _Black Pearl_. That would've attracted attention from the dock master, though, who was certainly in Elizabeth's pocket. Or had been--he belonged to her successor now. It didn't matter, though. It was early morning, and the tavern was empty save for the bartender.

"We did it!" Pintel said.

Ragetti nodded, and his false eye nearly popped out. "There was no one there at all. The bathhouse is completely empty. Stealing these was a cinch, though you should know it's also a sin, cap'n."

Barbossa rolled his eyes. "Great. Didn't I tell you not to say a word about your mission?" Without looking, he pointed his pistol in the general direction of the bartender and fired before the man could flee. The thud of the body hitting the ground told him he hadn't missed. "The things I have to put up with..."

"Sorry," the men replied in unison.

"Well, now that we have the place to ourselves, lay them out! What did you find?"

The first few rolls consisted of world maps and a few of the Caribbean, though Feng had obviously not been interested in that region of the world. Most were outdated and in poor condition, with a few having been eaten through or covered by mold. Then came a collection that had been stored with the map Will Turner stole the last time they broke in. These were of more interest, though most dealt with local legends, including one about a fish with the head of a lion.

"What's this?" Ragetti said, flattening out a piece of parchment on the countertop. "Looks like a treasure chest."

Barbossa looked up from his own study of three maps featuring Florida. If he remembered correctly, the fountain had been somewhere near the southern coastline, and maybe a discrepancy between Feng's different versions would be a clue. The object of Ragetti's interest was not a map at all but instead showed a blue box, taller than it was wide. A glance told him it was not a chest at all, and there were words along the top, scraggly as though drawn by someone who didn't understand their meaning. He could tell it was English, though, and read "Police Box" despite the artist's uncertain scrawl. He wondered what a "police" was.

Not knowing why, he snatched the parchment and began reading. Ragetti shrugged, turning his attention to their last stolen artifact, which turned out to be a nude sketch of some woman he did not recognize. Barbossa was thankful it'd come last, or else they'd never have gotten through the collection.

"A magical vessel known as the TARDIS," he read from the scroll, "it contains immense rooms within its frame, despite its small size, and is the transportation of a many-faced man known as the Doctor, who is believed to be an angel of death."

_The king lives to serve,_ Elizabeth's last words echoed in his mind. _And when the time is right, the king dies for the same purpose._

But Elizabeth's death had not accomplished anything.

"She is not dead," Tai Huang had snapped. The wind grabbed at their clothes as the sun dropped beneath the waves, giving a cool evening breeze full reign over the island.

"No one can survive such a fall," Barbossa replied, but the first mate did not pay him any attention. He just looked over the edge and made a sign with both his hands.

Twin gasps brought him out of his recollection, and he realized he had made the same sign while thinking. "That's a heathen sign, that is," Ragetti squeaked.

Pintel hit him over the back of his head. "The Captain's done plenty of heathen-ish things in his time, he has, and it hasn't bothered us yet."

"Aye," Barbossa growled before pondering the implications of what'd been said. Pintel was aware of his mistake and stared wide-eyed until Barbossa dismissed the statement, deciding it wasn't worth his time. "It's just something I saw. What does it mean?"

Ragetti was busy making the cross over his chest, so Pintel replied for him, "It's the sign of the lion."

"These fairy tales?" He waved a hand over the mermaid-lion account.

"No. Some say it's a lion, others a tiger, but whatever it is, it's a giant orange beast that comes out at night and stalks the island. Every new moon, a child or animal goes missing, always taken from a locked house."

Barbossa laughed. "Has anyone ever _seen_ this... legend?"

"They say it was here when a prince founded the city," Ragetti whispered. "And it's only ever been seen on a cliff overlooking the ocean. At night, you can hear it roar."

"That's just water against the rocks," Pintel retorted, but there was a hint of doubt in his voice. After all, they'd been over the end of the world...

So Huang thought Elizabeth had sacrificed herself to the spirit stalking the island? That made no sense, and doing so didn't advance the pirate cause any. She was king of the Brethren Court, not Singapore. It wasn't her job to placate some ill-tempered feline.

"Apparently, last new moon, no one disappeared."

Barbossa gripped his flagon so hard rum sloshed over the rim. "When Elizabeth was here?"

"Aye."

"Get these papers back into storage before they're missed." Barbossa got to his feet and stalked out.

"Where are you going, captain?" Pintel called after him as they swept up the rolls of parchment.

He cast about for a good excuse. "To buy a toothbrush," he snarled, remembering his current one was so frayed it was worthless (and had been for roughly six years). _There's more to her than meets the eye,_ he thought. There always had been, from the moment they'd dragged her aboard the _Black Pearl_ back at Port Royal. Elizabeth would not kill herself. The only person he thought she'd die for was Will Turner, and there was no longer any need for that.

_Where does she keep that chest with his heart?_

Then he froze in the middle of taking a step. A moment ago, he had thought her dead, but now he would bet his life, no, his _gold_, that she lived.

"Tell your fortune?" a cloaked woman asked, her face barely visible beneath a hood. "Only a penny."

"No."

She grabbed his sleeve, and he reached for his sword. Backing away, she did not let go until she said, "Then advice for free, okay?"

"What advice?"

"Not my place to give. You must follow."

"I don't have time for this." But he didn't turn his back on her. The crone let out a low cackle, like the croaking of a frog, and headed into an alley without looking back to see if he came.

Heeding the same weird that had guided his thoughts to this point, he went after her, though he unsheathed his blade first. With the pirates out of the city, only unorganized crime remained, and that was the most dangerous type if only for the unpredictability; you at least had be sane to be a member of organized crime.

They entered a dank, musty boarding house, the only light coming from two candles on a mahogany desk in the hall, in addition to the rays of morning sun that made it through the doorway, where a brick acted as a doorstop. "This is no shop," he said.

"And I am no fortune teller." She swept back her hood to reveal a wrinkled face, ordinary and unmemorable. A housekeeper, he guessed, but she held out a hand and revealed a medal. He took it and saw it belonged to the Royal Navy. Seeing his approval, she proceeded upstairs. The room they entered was small, no more than thirty-five square feet. A pallet, narrow table and stool filled the space, but there was no occupant.

Disregarding this fact, a man's voice spoke to them. "So we meet again."

Barbossa swung around to confront an empty hall. The housekeeper pulled him into the room and shut the door, ignoring the blade he brandished before her face.

"I do ask you not hurt her. On the desk, if you would."

He looked and saw nothing but a single candle and a human skull. A skull, a medal and that voice. Barbossa gasped. "You're that commodore? Were that commodore?" He took a moment to silently thank Calypso that she had not brought himself back to life in such a fashion.

The jawbone moved of its own accord, despite the lack of sinew or muscle. A single metal wire kept the piece attached to the rest of the skull, which kept it from falling off but didn't make up for the lack of muscle, or vocal chords. "The name is James Norrington. And of course, I know you by reputation, Captain Barbossa. Since I am no longer capable of wielding a sword or serving the empire, I hope this meeting shall be less tumultuous than ones before."

He took a seat, and the housekeeper shuffled out the door, allowing it to creak shut. "How is this possible?"

"Says one man who came back from the dead to another. I do not know. One moment I was aboard the _Dutchman_, bleeding to death, and the next, I was washing ashore, unable to move any part of my body. You can imagine my dismay when I discovered this was because it wasn't there."

"You know you're in Singapore?"

"Yes. And I know Elizabeth controls the island. I once told her our fates were intertwined, though I never dreamed anything like this."

"If you want me to reunite--"

"No!" he snapped, the movement causing him to tip over. Barbossa righted the skull. "Thank you. When I heard of your arrival, I asked for you personally. I have... memories... that do not belong to me. Memories that do not belong to any past I've read in history books."

"Describe them."

"A city made of gold, possessing mechanisms I could not have thought up in my wildest imagination or darkest nightmare. The inhabitants wield magic on a level such as we have never witnessed, not from the Aztecs, not from Davy Jones. And they are tunneling, Barbossa, deep under the surface, even beneath the ocean beds."

"El Dorado?"

"Perhaps."

"What are the tunnels for?"

"Their armies."

"Nothing in the legend speaks of an army."

"Nevertheless, they are coming _here_. When they strike, even the empire will fall."

The whirl of the maelstrom flashed before his eyes, as did Beckett's visage moments before they blasted his ship into splinters. Nevertheless, to crush a nation that spanned the Earth would be a different task altogether. An impossible task, most would say. If Britain ever fell, it would not be at the hands of another nation, but of those within its borders, because no one else had the firepower or wealth to match.

"What am I supposed to do with this knowledge?"

"There is an aura about you that I can now see: the glow of magic. You and others here have been touched more deeply, and it calls them."

"So they're not coming to take the city. They're coming for _me_?"

"And Elizabeth, Turner, Sparrow, all of you. The city is incidental and may not be harmed or taken at all. They are certainly capable of subtlety and subterfuge."

"What do they want with us?"

"You will be either assimilated or destroyed. It makes no difference to their ultimate goals."

All the more reason to find that fountain. "Apple?" he offered absent-mindedly as he withdrew one from his knapsack. Then he remembered what he was talking to. Norrington did a fantastic job of glaring, all things considered. "Right, of course." He took a bite for himself. "Do you know anything about the fountain of youth?"

"No."

"You're not saying 'no' because of my apple, are you?"

"No."

"That doesn't help."

"I'm not in the mood for word games, Barbossa."

"Well, you look very good for a skull, and that's the word of an expert. The curse and all."

"Thank you," Norrington replied wryly. "Now, you are their most obvious target, because without magic, you would not exist at all. And you have been touched by that curse. So leave the island immediately. As long as they're hunting you, they will leave Elizabeth alone."

Barbossa laughed. "So this is what it's all about? You're a skull, Norrington, and you're still thinking with your dick."

"With my _heart_."

"You don't have one of those either."

"Leave, Barbossa. You'd be surprised what a skull can accomplish when commoners are so superstitious."

"And what about you?"

"I will stay here to protect Elizabeth."

"You're magical too."

"My guess is that stray magic from the tunneling caused my resurrection, giving me a glimpse into their world. If that is the case, then I am already a part of them and will not draw attention."

"Maybe you're a spy."

"I'm giving them a great view, then."

"You could come with me."

Surprise emanated from the skull, and Barbossa wondered if that was part of the magic, the ability to transmit emotions in the absence of facial expressions, because he could feel his own heart beat faster and his eyebrows tried to creep up, though he didn't let them.

"I think not."

Barbossa shrugged. "Your loss, but you should know, Elizabeth's dead."

"_What?_" His jaw opened so wide he rolled over and off the table, bouncing against the wooden floor and onto the pallet. Barbossa retrieved him and secured him between the wall and candle to prevent further interruptions.

"She leapt off a cliff last night."

"Into the ocean?"

"Aye."

"Oh. Then she's not dead."

"Why do people keep saying that?" He slapped the desk, dislodging the candlestick and sending the skull rolling away. "_Arrrrgh_." This time, when the skull landed on the bedding, he left it there. "And if you tell me she's the human incarnation of some lion god, I'll throw you out the window."

The emotions flowing from Norrington were unperturbed. He supposed not much could bother a skull. "Where did you hear such nonsense? Elizabeth and the sea belong together. It will not harm her."

Barbossa paused, feeling his anger quail before shock. Why had he not realized that himself? "You're right," he said. "Of course." _He'd_ been the one who told _her_, so how had he not followed her line of reasoning? Well, because she was a half-suicidal madwoman, deny it though she might. Yet everything made sense. "You'll have your wish granted. As soon as I spot Elizabeth's heaving wet bodice on land again, I'll be off this miserable island."

The pang of anger at his remark vanished as he finished the sentence, replaced by a sort of haughty satisfaction. He was glad the emotional link did not work in reverse, or Norrington might become suspicious. "I'll leave you to your retirement, then, _Commodore_." That wiped away the smugness.

The housekeeper was outside the door when he left, and he wondered how much she had heard. It didn't matter. He barely acknowledged her bow as he swept past.

The journey to the marketplace passed in a blur. If Norrington's tale was true, he wanted the _Black Pearl_ ready to cast off at any moment. Elizabeth's little adventure would attract more attention than was healthy, but at the same time, there was no guarantee he would see her the moment she returned. Her own people swarmed the coastline, keeping watch all day and all night, and if they felt she needed time to "recover" then they could keep him out for at least a week. That was far too long, especially as he didn't trust her not to leave without him. With a week's head start, even the _Black Pearl_ wouldn't be able to give chase.

A solid wall blocked his way, causing him to run head first into a panel of wood. He backed away, cursing. Why was there a stall in the middle of the street? Then he noticed it was painted blue and stood blocking traffic, as though it had dropped from the sky.

"Well, begad," he said softly. Too many legends were coming true today. What was a pirate supposed to do with immortality, gold _and_ angels? Actually, a list was already growing ever-longer in his mind, but it was possible to have too much of a good thing. Aztec gold had taught him that.

Nevertheless, there was no ignoring facts, and the words "Police Box" were plainly emblazoned across the top of the box.


	23. Chapter 16: The Universe

**Chapter 16**

**The Universe**

The TARDIS was empty, but not for long. The doors flew open and a group of seven mismatched people entered. 

"We ended up on Earth again!" said Donna. "How are you so bad at navigation?"

"I'm not! The TARDIS just likes Earth!" protested the Doctor.

"We just met _Archimedes_," said House. "That's amazing! You know he came up with mathematical concepts that are still being used today!"

"I should hope so, since 'today' he's still alive." said Wilson cheekily.

"Oh, shut up," said House. Tosh also looked rather thunderstruck by their chance meeting.

"You know, that owl was named Archimedes in the Disney version of _Sword in the Stone_," remarked Owen. Most of the others looked at him oddly.

"Where to next?" said Sarah Jane. 

"Let me just set the randomizer," said the Doctor.

"Well hurry it up," said Donna.

"Hey scarfman, I have a question," said House. Donna sniggered.

"Hmm?" said the Doctor, fiddling with the console.

"In private," House added. The Doctor flicked one more switch and walked over.

"Does this have to do with mustard?" he said.

"What? No!" said House. "I've been thinking. These surgical robot things, if they can heal genetic diseases, isn't it safe to assume they could heal my leg? Because that would, you know, give me a lot more motivation to actually find these aliens."

"Well yes, of course," said the Doctor. "Some of the really advanced ones can even grow back whole body parts."

House grinned at him. "Great! Let's go people!" he added to the rest of the group, clapping his hands. The Doctor grinned back at him and pulled a final lever on the console. 

The dematerialization sound began seconds before the doors flew open again and against a backdrop of ancient Syracuse, in strode a tall, slightly imposing man. He had a full beard and looked to be in his late thirties.

"Wait!" he said. "You didn't -- what _is_ this place?" As the man looked around in wonder, the Doctor shouted something indistinct and leapt for the door lever. The doors swung shut just as the TARDIS made its leap into the vortex. 

"Fool!" said the Doctor. "Why did you come in here?"

House snickered. "You just called Archimedes a fool," he said. 

"Ooooh no," said Donna. "We're taking him back, right now. I'm not gonna have some weird Greek guy coming with us."

"Who made you the leader?" said Owen.

"You want him along?" said Donna. Owen shrugged petulantly.

"Wait, wait," said Archimedes. "_Where am I_?"

"Uh, a time machine," said Sarah Jane. 

"A what?"

"It... travels in time. Er, and space too."

"My dear, I would surely know about it if such a contraption existed!" scoffed Archimedes.

"Well, see for yourself! We've landed," said the Doctor. "Don't look too long though. You're staying with the TARDIS. I can't be looking after even more reckless fools!"

"What--" began Archimedes.

"Oh yes, and, let's see," interrupted the Doctor. "Wilson, you stay with him! Can't have him wandering off. Don't you wander off either. I mean that!"

With that, he opened the doors with a flourish.

--

Otto von Chriek, the vampire/chief iconographer for the Ankh-Morpork Times, was not technically "on duty" when he noticed something curious a short ways from where he was walking, but he still carried his iconograph and enough of his equipment to rush into action in case of an event--in many ways, his was a 24/8 job.

He wondered if he should run and get William or Sacharissa, or at least send an urgent clacks message to the Times' private tower, but the nearest public tower was several blocks away and he didn't want to miss a potential story. 

It wasn't technically his job, but he always kept a pencil and pad of paper handy just for situations like this, so he could take notes and hand them over to one of the reporters. 

The curiosity centered around a small group of strangely-clothed, mismatched people. Probably foreigners, Otto thought, though he couldn't place from where. That was hardly a big deal in and of itself--everyone in the city was foreign--but these people seemed far more foreign that was usual even for Ankh-Morpork. Otto had been all over the disk and he'd never seem clothing or mannerisms like theirs. It might do well to follow them for a while.

"Wow," he heard one of them say, a small, different-looking woman. "This is the first alien planet I've ever been on! I've always dreamed about it!" This seemed an odd thing for someone to say.

"Yeah. It's a right pity it's such a dump," said another, an unimpressed youngish man. 

"Hey frogboy," said a redheaded lady in a take-no-crap kind of voice. "Why don't you remove those tadpoles from your ass and try to have a good time? If you weren't being so busy being cynical all the time you might enjoy yourself." 

"You haven't got one drop of romance in your soul, Owen," said the first woman sadly.

The unimpressed man scowled at her and snarked something back, but Otto's interest had left them for the time being. 

By far the strangest character in the group was a very tall man at the front of the group, who was sporting a surprising amount of surprisingly curly hair and a wide, nearly manic grin. This look was topped off by an insanely long multicolored scarf that wrapped around the man's neck twice and still had enough length left over for both ends to trail lightly on the ground. The overall effect was something that on a man of any other stature and build would have been exceedingly comical, and yet on this man it looked impressive. He moved as though it were natural to be weighed down by several yards of wool.

He was chatting cheerily with a young woman who was by far the most normal-looking of the bunch, brunette and not too strangely clothed.

In between the squabbling trio at the back and the two in the front stalked a peeved-looking, slightly unkempt man with a cane. The whole group was being followed by a small black cat, but it didn't look like they'd noticed her yet. 

They also hadn't noticed Otto, but he knew how not to be seen. It was part of being a vampire. 

It wasn't long before the curly-haired man in front spotted something that interested him near Contract Bridge and headed in that direction. The thing that had interested him turned out to be a man in a copper's uniform. Or rather, several men and two dwarfs in copper uniforms, standing around beside the bridge eating lunch and talking amongst themselves. _Interesting_, thought Otto.

They looked to be on break, but coppers are coppers and they quickly turned their attention to the odd group approaching them. For most of the men in the Watch, coppering was a state of being as much as a job. It wasn't something you hung up by the door when you got home. 

The curly-haired man had grinned at them and offered his hand, but the grumpy-looking man right behind him shoved him aside, raised his right hand in a four-fingered V, and said, "Take us to your leader" in a strange monotone. The watchmen stared at him.

Otto stopped a passing boy and gave him a couple pennies to run down to Gleam Street and fetch William, then quickly set up his iconograph. 

During the minute or so he'd been distracted, an argument had erupted between three of the coppers, the man with the cane, and the redheaded woman. This ended rather swiftly when the man whacked the nearest copper over the head with his cane, after which they were promptly arrested. Otto got a couple quick shots of the group being led, some loudly protesting, away towards the Watch House. 

Around then, William showed up, pad of paper and pencil at the ready.

"What's going on?" he said, looking around.

"I don't know vat just happened," said Otto, "but I fink it vas someting interesting. Some very curious characters have come to ze city."

--

"Is this Chula or isn't it?" Owen demanded for the fourth time. The cell they were sitting in barely held them all, and certainly not comfortably.

"Er, no," said the Doctor, having finally run out of circuitous answers. Owen groaned in frustration.

"How do you know for sure?" asked Sarah Jane.

"The Chula don't look anything like these people. When we get to Chula, I'll know," explained the Doctor.

"Why didn't we just _leave right away_ then?" said Owen. 

"For once I actually agree with you," said Donna. 

"I wanted to confirm something," said the Doctor.

"Since this isn't where we're looking for," said House, "can we just bust out of here and leave?"

The two watchmen guarding the cell looked over at them. 

Sarah Jane rolled her eyes. "Stop bickering, guys."

"What did you want to confirm?" asked Tosh, always curious.

"This looks like the Discworld," the Doctor said with the air of one imparting a groundbreaking theory. This failed to cause the expected excitement. "You know, the _Discworld_," he said again.

House rolled his eyes. "There is no reason whatsoever why I should have heard of this."

"It's a world shaped like a disc that sits on the backs of four elephants who stand on the back of a giant turtle that swims through space. No one has ever been able to prove it exists because of its constantly changing spatial coordinates. I still don't know if this is it!"

"I hope you don't expect anyone to believe that," said House.

"Is no one going to do anything?" said Donna. "No plans? Doctor, sonic screwdriver? Uhh, do you have that yet?"

"I left it in the TARDIS," said the Doctor sheepishly.

"Sheesh," she said, then stood and grabbed the bars of the cell. "LET ME OUT OF HERE!" she screamed at top volume. Everyone else in the room covered their ears at once. "I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS! I HAVE DONE NOTHING WRONG! LET ME OUT, YOU STUPID, BUREAUCRATIC MORONS OR I WILL HAVE YOUR BALLS ON A PLATE!"

"I really don't think that's helping," said Owen.

"Why does he keep leading us out into places he knows aren't Chula?" Tosh asked Sarah Jane.

"He's always been a bit, ah, directionless. He gets distracted easily," said Sarah Jane.

"Doesn't he realize this is important? Someone's life is at stake!"

"Oh, I'm sure he understands," Sarah Jane reassured her. "Whatever his eccentricities, he's not one to underestimate the importance of life. If he thought the situation was really serious, he'd be a lot more focused."

"Serious? It is serious!" said Tosh. Donna continued shouting through the bars, her threats getting nastier and more bizarre. 

"Oh, I know it's serious, but you know the TARDIS is a time machine... right? We can just plop back down a second after we left. Theoretically."

"What do you mean, theoretically?" said Tosh suspiciously. 

"Ah. Well. He's not actually very good at piloting it..." Sarah Jane admitted. Tosh stared at her.

--

Sam Vimes was not happy. His day had started busy, gotten busier, and all signs pointed to the future becoming busier yet. It was barely lunchtime and he couldn't even remember all the things he had yet to do. He felt guilty about taking the time even to use the toilet and, worst of all, his investigation was going _nowhere_. As if all this weren't enough, there had been a very obvious attempt on his life not even an hour ago, and they hadn't caught the shooter. All this accumulated, one problem dog-piling on top of another, and the final result was a Very Bad Mood.

And then he'd been called down to take a look at some "wackjobs" who, apparently, had assaulted an officer. That was ridiculous. He was the Commander of the Watch! There was absolutely no reason why he should have been called in on a matter as trivial as this, as if wackjob wasn't the norm in this city, as if this sort of thing didn't happen every day.

Carrot had insisted, though. He'd said that it would have a calming effect on the rest of the Watch if they saw that the Commander could still deal with the usual problems in a time of crisis. Vimes considered this and decided it was utter bull. Absolutely nothing had a calming effect on any citizen of Ankh-Morpork, where the natural state was one of anxiety, except maybe when they were dead and even then it wasn't a guarantee. 

Carrot had added that this group was significantly odder than most they arrested in an attempt to interest Vimes. It hadn't worked, but Vimes had eventually relented under Carrot's firm insistence. 

At least they were being held in the Pseudopolis Yard cells, so he didn't have to go far. 

There was a pretty steady shouting noise that he could hear from a ground floor, and it only grew louder and more shrill as he descended the staircase. It turned out to be emanating from a sharply dressed redheaded woman, who quite clearly had a superb pair of lungs. She was shouting indiscriminately at poor Corporal Nobbs and Sergeant Colon, who had been trying to get on with a little guard duty in peace and quiet. You needed a certain amount peace and quiet to play poker, which is what they had clearly been doing until somebody had upset the table, probably Colon in his rush to stand up.

"Mister Vimes!" said Colon with an air of obvious relief. "This lady is out of control! I don't know what to do."

"I AM NOT OUT OF CONTROL, YOU DIMWIT! I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT I AM CHARGED WITH! YOU HAVE NO AUTHORITY TO KEEP ME HERE!" the woman raved, already well into her stride and showing no signs of slowing without a good reason. The other five people in the cells looked slightly pained. One was covering his ears and making absurd faces at her behind her back. 

Vimes took a deep, deliberate breath, slowly removed a cigar from his case, and lit it. He took a long drag, then removed it from his mouth and tucked it behind his ear. Then he said, "Why am I here?" 

"Who the hell are you?" said the raving woman. He ignored her.

"Er, this one claims to be a doctor, sir, and I thought," began Colon.

"Hold on!" interrupted the weasely looking one. "I'm a doctor too!"

"So is he," said a brown-haired girl, pointing to a surly older man who was sulking in the back.

"So much for subtlety and keeping a low profile," muttered the man she'd indicated.

"Yes, but I am _the_ Doctor," said a wild-looking man with wild hair and a wildly bizarre scarf. He pointed to each of his companions in turn. "This is Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Sarah Jane Smith, Donna Noble, and Gregory House."

"Will you all shut up?" said Vimes, trying not to show his impatience. The Doctor--and Vimes wondered what his name _really_ was, because what was he trying to prove with an alias as obvious as that anyway?--looked affronted.

"Er," said Colon nervously.

"You brought me down here because a couple morons you picked up say they're doctors? You know about doctors, Fred," continued Vimes.

"I thought it might be worth a shot, Mister Vimes," said Colon. "I thought anything might be worth a shot."

"If Igor can't fix it there's no reason why these people should be able to," said Vimes.

"Yes, sir." Sergeant Colon didn't move a muscle. Vimes sighed.

"Fine," he relented. He turned back towards the cell, the occupants of which had ceased making noise a few minutes ago and were now carefully observing.

"Who's sick?" asked the one named House. 

"Don't act stupid," said Vimes. The whole city was suffering from a sort of underground panic about the plague, everyone knew. 

"We're not really from around here," Sarah Jane explained. Vimes didn't think this was much of an excuse, but didn't press the issue. Most people around here weren't from around here, especially the ones who tended to get brought in. 

"There's a sickness spreading. We don't know where it came from, how it spreads, or what to do to cure it," said Vimes. He felt silly explaining this to a group of strangers, as if they could do anything to help. 

"How many?" said House.

"Nearly fifty," Vimes said after a moment's pause.

"It's probably the flu or something equally innocuous," said House dismissively. Vimes raised an eyebrow at him.

"I think I know the difference."

"Forgive me for interrupting," said the Doctor, "but what does this have to do with the police?" 

Vimes had wondered the same thing himself. "It is the duty of the Watch to keep order, as much as is possible, in Ankh-Morpork, and the prevention of a panicked riot falls under that category." This was the best excuse he could come up with for himself. He didn't add that he was also under orders from Lord Vetinari. 

Colon and Nobby had righted their table and were playing cards again in a failing attempt to cover up the fact that they were both listening in. The Doctor looked thoughtful.

"Okay," said the loud one--Donna Noble. "Are you going to tell us who the hell you are, Mr. Bigwig?"

"You really don't know?" said Vimes, a little surprised. He was definitely known all over Uberwald, Klatch, Genua, and all of the other major countries on the Disc, as well as most of the minor ones, even if it was only as being a massive thorn with a penchant for disrespecting aristocracy. 

"How should I know? Don't assume you're more important than you are!" she said. Vimes reflected that he could see himself actually coming to like this woman. 

"He's Sir Samuel Vimes!" said Sergeant Colon in disbelief. "Commander of the City Watch and Duke of Ankh..."

"So?" said the woman haughtily. Colon's mouth dropped open, but Vimes waved at him to let it go.

"Commander Vimes--that's all right, isn't it?--what can we do to help?" said the small brunette, Sarah Jane. This got sneers from House and Owen, who had yet to speak.

Vimes sighed. "Well, if some of you are doctors and you're definitely not from Ankh-Morpork, it can't hurt to let one of you come take a look, I suppose. If you think you might be able to help. It'll have to be quick, though. I've only got an hour."

"Wait, you're just letting us go?" said the other girl, Toshiko, who hadn't spoken until now. 

"Normally assaulting an officer is a pretty serious crime, but we've got more important things to deal with right now. Also, you guys don't look very dangerous to me."

"I'll go," said House as he stood laboriously, leaning heavily on his cane and glancing dismissively at the others.

"I'm coming too!" Donna announced.

"Wait, wait, I think I should go," said the Doctor.

"Only one, I said," growled Vimes. "And we need to leave right away. I haven't got time for this."

"I'm going!" Donna insisted.

"You're not a doctor," said Owen. "I'm not staying cooped up in here! No way." 

House whacked Owen lightly with his cane. "Down, boy. You're not coming."

"I really think--" began the Doctor, but Sarah Jane tugged on his sleeve and whispered something in his ear, and he hesitated, then sat back again.

"Alright, you come with me," Vimes said to House, who looked smug.

"Hold it there, big boy. I said I'm coming! I am not staying here with all these losers!" said Donna forcefully. Vimes stared at her. She didn't back down. He grinned.

"Alright," he said. "You can come too." She crossed her arms over her chest in a very self-satisfied way. 

"Of course," she said.

"Let's just get out of here. I'm getting a cramp," House grumbled. 

--

Alice was a Real Cat. When she caught something, she ate it all. She could hear a pantry door opening from down the street. She hissed and shit and clawed, but she was as sweet as a cat can be when she thought there might be a treat in it for her. She had a family who thought they owned her, though in reality she owned them. She walked with a slight limp from a previous fight, though it on the whole didn't seem to impede her movement much.

Alice didn't look like a Real Cat, which she saw as being to her advantage. She was small and black and had piercing green eyes. She was half Siamese, but the other half was anyone's guess. She was nearly seventeen years old, but that was something of an asset. She had survived to be very old on the most dangerous streets on the Disc for those seventeen years and she wasn't about to give up anytime soon. 

Alice had survived by being clever, swift, and most of all, a good judge of character. She could tell which humans, dwarfs, or trolls were likely to give her food, and which ones were likely to give her a good kick. 

She'd found a promising group of people a while ago and had been following them, waiting for an opening she could use to jump in and look pitiful and cute. The crippled man in the back of the group hadn't looked too likely, but there were several clear suckers.

Then she'd lost them! The cripple had done something severely stupid and they'd gotten taken away by men in weird uniforms.

So Alice had followed. It wasn't like she had any other pressing demands on her time. Sneaking into the giant building filled with uniformed men hadn't been a problem, but it was getting down to where they had been taken that was proving an issue. Alice could usually infiltrate places easily by blending in with shadow. Her black fur and small stature were ideal for it. However, the downward staircases were located in an area that was miraculously devoid of shadow.

Ah well. If there was one thing a cat could do well, it was wait. Alice settled down under a desk for a nice nap.

--

Captain Carrot picked up the crossbow bolt and examined it. 

Not too much earlier that day this bolt had nearly buried itself in Commander Vimes' head. Remarkably, the Commander hadn't seemed too perturbed by it. It was, he'd explained, part of his job description. Carrot understood that--the Watch, including Commander Vimes, had been getting shot at and worse for a long time before he'd showed up in Ankh-Morpork--but it was still impressive.

The bolt was extremely ordinary. It was one of the most common sizes and makes supplied by Burleigh & Stronginthearm, with no identifying marks or tells.

It wasn't like Carrot had expected anything different. It would have been terminally stupid to use anything different, and criminals in Ankh-Morpork were either intelligent or dead. 

Despite being painfully ordinary, the bolt did reveal some clues. It wasn't an assassin's weapon, because assassins would never go in for something so crude and anyways the Commander had been taken off the Assassins' Guild register. Since other guilds weren't in the habit of committing murder and in fact frowned rather heavily upon it, the would-be killer was probably not a licensed member of any of the heavy-duty guilds, such as the Thieves or the Beggars, which were more likely to find out.

Finally and probably most importantly, anyone who had spent any amount of time with the criminal circles in the city knew that it was damn difficult to kill Sam Vimes, and something as simple as a crossbow wasn't going to cut it. That meant that the killer was most likely new in town or new to the idea of murder.

The door to Carrot's office opened and he smiled when Angua walked in and sat down across from him.

"Not unique at all?" she said, motioning towards the bolt. 

"No. I didn't expect it would be," said Carrot, setting it down. "Did you get anything?"

"There was a scent trail up until I hit busy streets. At this time of day, with that many crisscrossing scents, there's just no way to follow it." Carrot nodded.

"Did you pick up any details?" 

Angua frowned. "Well... I don't know if it means anything, but there was a hint of mildew, and damp. Like he'd been underground a while."

"A dwarf?" Carrot suggested.

"No, he was definitely human," said Angua. "And with the housing situation here like it is, there are plenty of basement rooms being rented out. It could be as simple as that, and we'd never be able to check them all even if we could identify him."

"Hmm," said Carrot, tapping his finger against the bolt, deep in thought.

"It was in broad daylight, though," Angua said. "I don't see how no one saw him!"

"Hmm," Carrot said again. "Well, do what you can. If everyone in the area has been questioned, that's fine. Mister Vimes doesn't seem too worried about it, so I don't think we should worry either."

"All right. I'm going to get back to work on my other investigation." Angua stood and walked towards the door. When she reached it, she paused and turned back. "Carrot, isn't your birthday this week?"

Carrot blushed deeply. It clashed horribly with his bright orange hair. "Er," he said. "You don't have to get me anything! I'm really happy just being here, really, I am."

"I see," said Angua, and she was smiling when she left.

--

Wilson kicked the console. "This is so stupid!" he said.

"This is quite fascinating," said Archimedes from the other side of the console. "Although I admit I do not understand one iota of it. Where did you say this device was from again?"

"I didn't," grouched Wilson. "I have no idea where it's from. Some alien place probably."

"You aren't utterly encapsulated by all this? I am stunned! It is magnificent!"

Archimedes' enthusiasm was really getting to Wilson. 

"I'm upset because they left us here, _alone_, while they went out and had fun! And they've been gone for an hour now! An _hour_!" he complained.

"But this is just incredible! I could study this device for centuries and still not understand it, and I'm no slouch, if I do say so myself." Archimedes had circled around to Wilson's side of the console and was closely examining a set of suspicious-looking buttons.

"Well have at it," Wilson said sourly. "We'll probably be here waiting for them about that long."

"Oh, don't be so down. This place is huge! There's plenty to explore if you're feeling trapped." Archimedes had moved on to examining the walls. "Fascinating! It seems almost organic!" he said.

"I'm not feeling trapped, I'm feeling left out," Wilson said. "Also I am feeling like a baby sitter." Archimedes shot him an offended look. "I didn't mean it that way," he added. "but you are from, well, more primitive times. I don't claim to understand any of this, but at least some of it's familiar."

"Primitive to you, maybe," said Archimedes, "but that is all a matter of perspective, is it not? To my perspective, where I am 'from' is the present day, and therefore modern, not primitive. In relation to me perhaps you are from a more advanced time, but with respect to this sort of advancement, I'd say we are on pretty equal ground. What's a couple thousands years in the face of this?" He gazed around him in wonder. 

Wilson shrugged, not caring to argue. "Fine, but I still wish I was out there instead of in here."

"Well," said Archimedes, resting his right elbow on his left palm and placing a finger on his chin contemplatively, "it's not like they locked us in. It couldn't hurt to explore a little, if you're that anxious."

"I am so glad you said that," said Wilson. 

--

"I'm not just a doctor," House explained reluctantly. "I'm a diagnostician. It's a special type of doctor."

"And what do they do?" said Vimes as they turned onto the Street of Small Gods.

"I tell people what's wrong with them. Take that guy, for instance." House pointed. "See how annoyed he looks? I'm betting it's because he hasn't been getting any lately. The ring on his finger tells us he's probably married, but the bruise on his cheeks looks like a slap. Also, he stinks like a four-day dead fish on a hot day. I can smell him from here, he must work somewhere awful. If he'd just take a bath when he got home, I'd bet he'd get more action from his wife."

Vimes raised an eyebrow. "I see." 

Carrot had accosted him on the way out of the Watch House to inform him that the man who'd shot the crossbow at him could not be tracked and also that a fairly new member of the Watch had requested a meeting with him. Vimes had told him to tell the kid to shove off, he had more important things to do, but Carrot had looked at him reprovingly and he'd agreed to meet the kid when he got back.

During the whole conversation he'd had the unnerving feeling that House and Donna, who had been standing a little ways off, were listening in quite closely. 

Suspicion aside, Vimes was finding that he quite liked both of them, which was rare. Donna had a large, loud personality and spoke her mind with ease, which was a quality Vimes heartily approved of. She carried herself with confidence and displayed an impressive amount of shrewdness. House, on the other hand, was blunt, sarcastic, and often downright mean, but reminded Vimes heavily of himself. House had a similar vice to his, though unlike his former alcohol habit, House seemed to function fairly well despite the little white pills he was always popping. 

Liking them didn't mean Vimes trusted them. He was extremely suspicious of them. They were in his city but he'd never heard of them before, and while that didn't necessarily mean anything (there were lots of people in Ankh-Morpork he'd never met), Carrot hadn't known them either, and that was a rare thing. 

More than that, they _acted_ suspicious. They'd say words sometimes that Vimes didn't understand, they were dressed funny, and they clearly had not only never been in the city before, but they didn't seem to recognize elements that were common all over the Disc. 

As if to illustrate that point, Donna make a squeaky noise and jumped as she spied a passing troll. 

"_What_ is _that_?" she said, pointing. Thankfully the troll didn't notice and kept walking. Vimes stared at her.

"A troll," he said.

"Wow," said House, watching it turn a corner. 

Not having ever seen a troll was explainable--it's not like they were common all over the Disc. In fact, they mostly stuck to the mountains, and many people arrived in Ankh-Morpork without ever seeing a Troll. Still, such an extreme reaction was a little strange, and it was one more thing on the top of a pile of slightly strange things.

"What do you do, Miss Noble?" he asked to change the subject. 

"You can call me Donna," she said. "I'm a temp."

Vimes had no idea what that meant. "A what?"

"I'm a secretary," she elaborated. "I work at different places for short periods of time whenever they need it. _What are you snickering at?_" The last bit was directed at House.

"Nothing," House said, still snickering a bit. 

"Damn straight."

"Where are you all from?" asked Vimes, changing the subject. He supposed that as long as they were chit-chatting, he might as well try to get some information.

"Oh, around," said Donna, waving her hand vaguely.

"Not here," added House. Vimes raised an eyebrow but didn't press the issue. There was always time for that later.

"What brings you to Ankh-Morpork?" he asked instead.

"The Doctor led us here," said Donna. Her voice took on an irritable tone. "We didn't actually mean to come here. We should have left right away, but instead _this_ lump had to get us _involved_."

"Hey!" said House defensively. "It's not my fault!"

"It is in every way your fault," Donna retorted, then clarified further. "There is no way in which it is not your fault."

"If you didn't mean to come to Ankh-Morpork, where were you meaning to go? And how in the hell could you have gotten so lost?"

"Er, it's not as difficult as you might think," said Donna.

"What's with the inquisition?" House growled. 

_Damn_, thought Vimes. He had succeeded in learning nothing and they were almost there. "Sorry," he said out loud. "I am a watchman, you know. I do it for a living."

House ignored him. "Aren't you going to tell me anything about this plague?"

"Like what?"

"Symptoms? Affected areas? How contagious is it?" House ticked these off on his fingers.

"Er, Vomiting, fever, aching joints, but what sets it apart is the spots. And it's probably contagious, but we don't really know."

"And? What kind of spots?"

"Black spots. They vary in size and location. We don't know what causes them, and no one has ever seen anything like it before," Vimes explained. There were almost at their destination. Vimes walked swiftly and the other two had no choice but to keep up. 

"Interesting," House said to himself. "Some sort of pox, maybe? But if they vary in size it's more likely to be purpura..."

"Excuse me, what?" said Donna. 

"What else causes spots? Some types of fungus, I suppose, but those wouldn't be contagious," House mused. "What's the size range?"

Vimes shrugged. "Don't know. I haven't really taken the time to look."

"Aren't you just a fountain of information."

They rounded the corner and there loomed the crudely-constructed barracks, looking not all that out of place in this part of the city.

In front of them, a man opened the large, crooked door and entered. He was dressed very strangely, with a long, encompassing black coat, a wide-brimmed hat, and oddest of all, a primitive sort of gas mask that looked a bit like a bird's beak. 

"Who was that?" asked Donna.

"A sort of doctor," said Vimes. "Come on."

The barracks had been constructed in a hurry, and it showed. They weren't built to last and they weren't built to be comfortable, but they were built to be functional. They were made from wood and even though they were built little more than a week ago they already looked ancient. Ankh-Morpork did that to buildings. There were tiny cracks in between the wood planks and the door swung on poorly installed hinges. The building was big, though, and it needed to be if recent events were to be any judge.

The inside was just as shabby as the outside, if not more so. Bedding, if you could call the dirty rags that, littered the floor, which was covered by sick people in rows. There were paths around the sick people through which a couple of the strangely clothed people walked, as well as a few more normally dressed. A couple more people, possibly family, sat beside some of the makeshift beds. 

The whole building was bleak in appearance, atmosphere, and intent. Vimes shivered. He hated being there. Carrot, he knew, came here every day after he got off work, and sat with them, providing some comfort and companionship. Vimes didn't know how he could stand it, but that was Carrot at his essence. 

Vimes glanced at his two companions. House looked pretty blank, but Donna looked horrified.

"Oh my god," she said. "This is awful! What is wrong with you? I'm no doctor, but even I know this isn't how you take care of people!"

Vimes was taken aback. "Our supplies are pretty limited," he protested weakly, hating that she was repeating back to him almost verbatim what he'd said to Vetinari only a few days ago, and that he was being forced to take on the role of the Patrician. 

"There are no excuses for this!" said Donna and already she was stomping off down the aisle. House had wandered off and seemed to be going about his own business, so Vimes cautiously followed her. 

She almost tripped over a bowl of brown stuff which, upon further inspection, was revealed to be some kind of food.

It wasn't even recognizable. Donna wrinkled her nose at it.

"This is totally unacceptable," she said. "Is that the kitchen?" She pointed to the other side of the building, where there were two sad-looking cabinets, a sad-looking counter with a sad-looking and extremely large pot on top, and also something that might have passed as a sink to a blind man who didn't know what its actual function was supposed to be. The young and somewhat dirty girl she was glaring at stuttered an affirmative. "Good grief," said Donna.

"Er--" began Vimes. She whirled on him.

"You! Aren't you the-- the _commander_ or something important? Don't you have money? _Why haven't you helped fund this_?"

For a moment Vimes was flummoxed. The idea hadn't even _occurred_ to him, and yet it was so obvious. Since his marriage to Sybil he'd hardly had a deficit of spare money. He could have funded far superior facilities without even making a dent in his own wealth. 

The problem, of course, was that wealthy though he may be now, he'd lived in poverty for far longer, and that was his default state. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of having money and as a result he often forgot he did until reminded of it.

He wondered why Sybil hadn't broached the idea, and remembered with a start that he hadn't even really seen her in days, not for more than a couple minutes, certainly not enough time to hold a real conversation. He felt a stab of guilt but pushed it aside. 

Donna hadn't bothered waiting around for an answer, at least. She was shouting instructions to the three women who were volunteering.

"You! Clean that pot out, and when I say clean it, I mean actually _clean_ it, and then go fill it with fresh water," she instructed one girl, then turned to another. "Find me some spices! Anything, I don't really care, oh, and salt, definitely salt and pepper. Don't worry about the cost, Armor Boy over there will pay for it." The nervous-looking girl glanced over at Vimes for confirmation of this statement, so Vimes rolled his eyes and nodded. "Get! Go! Scat!" Donna added.

Orders doled out, she stalked back towards Vimes. He raised an eyebrow at her as she approached. "Anything you'd like me to do?" he asked dryly. 

"We passed a meat stall on the way here, didn't we?" she said in a sharp tone. 

"Yes. Why?"

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

With that she left. Vimes shrugged at the swinging door she'd left in her wake. 

"Interesting woman," said a voice behind him. Vimes recognized it as House and grunted. "The markings aren't like anything I've ever seen before," House continued. "Most symptoms are pretty ordinary, could be anything, and the fact that some present in different patients than others isn't strange either. The spots, though, they're not compatible with any disease I can think of. One guy over there had a spot on his leg six inches in diameter! How cool is that?"

"What?" said Vimes.

"Anyway, spots like that are usually caused by burst blood vessels under the skin, or pus building up, or most commonly a rash of some sort. These resemble a rash more than the other two, but I don't know of any rashes that are spread so bizarrely over the body. And these aren't raised on the skin at all! They're like freckles, except they're giant, black freckles! If I can figure out what they are, I'll have a better shot at figuring out what it is and what we can do about it." He paused. "Problem is, your facilities are, uh, somewhat less than stellar, and when I say that, I mean I might as well be working in a sewer. Not exactly what I'm used to."

"I can't stay here much longer anyway, and you have to come back with me," said Vimes. "You can figure it out on the way back. I have things to do."

"Don't think you're getting me back into that stinky jail. No way in hell."

Vimes rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, we're not going to be wasting cell space on you and your friends any longer. Just don't get into any more trouble."

"What am I now, twelve?"

"You'd be a pretty ugly twelve-year-old."

Their bickering was cut short by Donna reentering the building, this time carrying a sack. Instead of acknowledging either of them, she went straight over to the makeshift kitchen and dumped the contents - which turned out to be bones previously belonging to several birds, chickens probably - onto the top of the cabinet. 

The pot had been thoroughly cleaned and filled with fresh water, and she carefully placed all the bones inside the pot. "Someone build me a fire!" she said, and two girls rushed to obey her. House looked on approvingly. 

"I like a woman who can bend others to her will. Shows strength of character." Then to Donna he said, "We're leaving, you know. Like now."

"You're going to have to wait a minute," said Donna without sparing him a glance. She located some large bricks in a corner and used them to build a sort of circular wall around the fire, on top of which she placed the pot. The bottom of the pot was wide enough that it sat on the edges above the fire without falling in, and the bricks were placed so that there were many spaces between them and the fire wouldn't suffocate. She stood back and looked at her creation with satisfaction.

"Now," she said, "we can go. But I'm coming back here in a couple hours. This needs to soak under a light heat for a long time, but these people need decent food soon."

"What the hell are you doing, cooking bones?" said House.

Vimes, who was completely familiar with this technique, having seen his mom employ it many a time, explained. "By soaking the bones for several hours you can create a broth. The taste seeps out. It's better than nothing, and when you grow up poor you learn not to waste anything."

"My mum always used to make soup with the bones after Christmas," said Donna. "Of course, she'd put a lot more in it, vegetables and all that, but I haven't got any money. I got these at the market down the road. Do you know how hard it was to get that man to give me them for free? He was such an asshole! It's not like he was using them!"

Vimes was impressed she'd gotten anything from him for free at all. The city's merchants were notoriously frugal. Anything they could sell was theirs, and they could sell anything. 

"Keep that fire going, but don't let it get too high!" Donna added to the girls clustered around the pot. "If the water shows signs of boiling, take it off the heat for about fifteen minutes, then put it back on. Don't touch it otherwise. I'll be back!" They nodded, giggled, and then started chatting amongst each other. "All right, let's go. Where are we going?"

Vimes sighed.

--

"Excuse me? Excuse me!" said the Doctor anxiously, shoving his face through the bars.

"What, us?" said one of their jailers, a large man, probably in his mid-fifties, whose name was Sergeant Colon, or at least that's what he'd been called. 

"Yes, of course you! Can you tell me where I am?"

"What, here?" Sergeant Colon looked around, confused.

"No, where!" said the Doctor.

"Er, this is the Watch house in Pseudopolis Yard."

"No, I mean _where_. More broadly."

"Er... next to the Opera House?" Colon tried.

"I think he means what city, Sarge," said the other jailer, Corporal Nobbs. This one was short, skinny, and looked more like a monkey than a man. 

"Oh, Ankh-Morpork, then," said Colon.

"Great! Wonderful!" said the Doctor. "More broadly still, where am I?"

"Uh... the... Discworld?" tried Colon.

"Lovely! Thank you!" the Doctor slumped back. "Do you know what this means? It means that we are _on the Discworld_, actually on one of the greatest legends in the _universe_, and _I am stuck in a cell_!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure Mister Vimes won't keep you here too long," said Corporal Nobbs, then he turned back to his cards. "Give me two, Sarge." Sarah Jane reached over and patted the Doctor's arm consolingly. 

"What is that you're playing? Is that _Poker_?" said Owen incredulously. "How do you have Poker here?"

"What?" said Colon, clearly out of his depth once again.

"There are always some universal constants," the Doctor explained.

"But... _Poker_?"

"The universe works in mysterious ways."

"What are you, a bad science fiction narrator?" said Sarah Jane.

"Can I play?" said Tosh.

Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs exchanged glances. 

"Ooooh, no, Sarge, Mister Vimes will blow his top if he finds we let the prisoners out," said Nobby.

"No, Nobby, he'll never know! See, Mister Vimes has a lot of pressing demands on his time, which is why he's trusting us to the very important job of guarding the cells. He trusts our judge of character, see, and I'm judging that these guys are harmless. Mister Vimes will be happy that he didn't have to make the decision to let them out himself!"

"I don't know, Sarge. I don't think he'd be all that happy."

"I'll tell you what. We'll only let them out if they promise to stay down here and not try to leave. How's that?"

"I promise!" said Sarah Jane, raising her hand.

"I do too," said Tosh.

"Sure, whatever," said Owen. The Doctor raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

"It's your call, Sarge," said Nobby. 

"Great!" said Colon. He stood, grabbed the keys from a tin in the bottom of the desk drawer, and unlocked the cell. Owen, Tosh, Sarah Jane, and the Doctor all piled out gratefully.

"Nobby, go run and see if you can find another chair," said Sergeant Colon. "We've only got five down here now." The five were utterly mismatched and included most of an armchair, and Sergeant Colon was hauling them all around the little round table at which he and Nobby had been playing. Sarah Jane and Owen helped him.

"Mind if I deal first?" said Tosh, gathering the cards. Colon grunted around a heavy wooden chair, and she took it as an okay. Nobby came back down with a cheap folding chair and they all sat. Tosh dealt.

"How do you play?" asked Sarah Jane brightly.

"Really? You really don't know how to play Poker?" scoffed Owen.

"When would I have had time to learn something like this?" Sarah Jane shot back.

"Oh hush," said Tosh. Nobby stared at them uneasily.

The Doctor leaned over and started explaining the rules to Sarah Jane while Tosh passed around cards.

"Three," said Colon. 

"Two," said Owen.

"I fold," said the Doctor and he sighed as he set his cards back down.

"I'll take... I'll take four!" said Sarah Jane.

"You don't want to take four," said the Doctor. "You want to fold."

"What? Why? I want to play!" 

"If your hand is bad enough that you need four, just fold."

"Fine," she said, and grumbled a bit.

"I'll take three," said Nobby.

"What are we betting here?" asked Tosh.

Colon shrugged. "Whatever you have."

"Alright, then, I'll start off by betting this pop tab." She took it out of her pocket and put it in the middle of the table. 

"Great," muttered Owen. 

"I'll raise you a button," said Nobby, throwing out a tarnished brass button.

"In that case, I'll bet a piece of pocket lint," said Owen.

"Nuh uh," said Colon. "That's against the rules. No pocket lint."

"What rules?" protested Owen.

"Betting rules."

"_What_ betting rules?" Colon just shook his head. "Fine! I'll bet, uh..." He sifted through his pockets. "I'll bet this flyer." He took out a crumpled flyer that turned out to be for a video rental store. Sergeant Colon seemed satisfied with this.

"I'll see your flyer and raise you two pebbles," he said.

The betting went around one more time. Tosh put down another pop tab (they looked at her strangely but she just shrugged), Nobby a turkey wishbone, Owen a shoelace, and Colon folded. 

"Two pair, kings and jacks," said Owen, laying his cards down with a flourish.

"Four fives," said Tosh proudly, laying down her cards as well.

"Dammit!" said Owen. Nobby sighed and threw his down as well, revealing only a pair of tens.

Thirty minutes later, Tosh was well in the lead. The most interesting bidding items had certainly come from the Doctor, who seemed to have all kinds of trinkets hidden within his large coat, including an arrowhead, a travel-sized bottle of lotion, a plastic ring, a keychain with the Eiffel Tower on it, a lollypop, and a defunct Italian fifty Lira coin.

Nobby was extremely excited by the coin, so Tosh graciously gave it to him after she won it. 

"You've been counting cards, haven't you?" the Doctor whispered to her under her breath.

"Me? Never!" she said in an exaggerated tone. Pretty early on, Owen had confiscated the cards from her and taken over the dealing duties, certain she was cheating. 

"I think I'm done playing now," said Sergeant Colon, who was sick of losing. Tosh stared at her pile of junk and started doubting the wisdom of counting cards to win. 

"I don't actually want most of this stuff," she said. "Anyone who wants it can have it."

Owen seized the chance and took back both his shoelaces and his belt (he'd run out of things to bet with pretty fast). 

"Come on, one more game!" said Sarah Jane. "I'm just starting to get the hang of this!"

"Maybe later," said the Doctor. "For now, I think we ought to... RUN!" 

With that, he bolted up the stairs. The others, after being momentarily startled, took off after him as Sergeant Colon and Corporal Nobbs yelled after them.


	24. Chapter 17: Into the Fire

**Chapter 17**

**Into the Fire**

A pause followed Lisa Cuddy's declaration about her need for dental hygiene, during which the Doctor gaped, Jack glowered and the four newcomers just generally stared. Then Jack snapped "Shut up!" at no one in particular. When he realized he was the new center of attention he shifted his feet before explaining: "House" and tapping his ear.

"Okay, first things first," Cameron said. "Who are they?" She made a sweeping gesture that included Chase and Joey but none of the four people she meant to indicate.

"Germans," the Doctor replied, and Cuddy wondered if he ever spoke at length about something helpful. Just once, she'd like to see him say something relevant rather than being obtuse right when a few extra words would be nice. Then again, at least he didn't use strange metaphors like House did.

"So you just kidnap the indigenous population wherever you go?" Chase said.

"What are you, an anthropologist? They're from the same time period as you. Actually, they're from your future. Maybe they should call you an awkward primitive."

"Okay, okay, fine. I get it. Let's make introductions." He waved at the woman with the crowbar, took a deep breath and said: "Wij zijn goddelijke gelukkige papavergebakjes." He beamed after getting through that mouthful. "I learned that greeting in college."

The German covered in Cameron's perfume arched one eyebrow, and she thought he could give Ianto a run for his money. That wasn't her immediate concern, though. "They speak English," Cuddy said. "In case you weren't paying attention earlier."

"Actually," the Doctor said, drawing himself up as he prepared to launch into another speech, "they were speaking German, but the TARDIS automatically translates any language she knows--which is almost everything in the universe, going back billions and billions of years--both written and spoken. Except names. Sometimes there's a hard time with names and what language to present them in and whether just to make it up. Limbo-didactism. Tends to happen when you're far away from us. Likewise, translates anything you write or say to anyone you encounter, as long as you're still traveling with me and both the TARDIS and myself are physically and mentally healthy, which, don't worry, is true most of the time. Well, like, all of the time, except a few minor incidents such as when a regeneration goes wrong, but that shouldn't be happening any time soon, at least I hope not. I mean, I'm a time lord, but that doesn't mean I can see the future. My own future. Everyone else's future, I sort of can see, except when we're part of my time line, as would be the case now with everyone present."

He turned to Chase. "And you just told them we were all divine heroin muffins. In Dutch."

"I'm Lisa Cuddy," she said, realizing the Doctor wouldn't be making introductions any time soon. "I'm a doctor from the United States. These are my colleagues, Robert Chase and Allison Cameron." She ignored Joey, who was purring and rubbing against the console, figuring the explanation would be more trouble than it was worth. "That's Ianto Jones and Captain Jack Harkness, from Wales where they run an alien-tracking organization called Torchwood, and the Doctor, who's an alien even if he doesn't look it. And yes, that's really the name he uses."

"An alien," orange shirt repeated.

The woman sighed. "And what did you think those things attacking us were?" He glowered at her, but she seemed used to that. "Anyway, I'm Olivia Schneider. The one without any social graces is Christian Mann,"--that would be orange shirt, who looked quite nice wet--"the nice one is my cousin, Oliver Sabel, but you can call him Olli,"--she indicated the one who was probably Christian's boyfriend, given how close they were earlier--"and the handsome one is Christian's brother, Gregor." With that, she gave Christian a pointed look, and Cuddy guessed the drama quotient in the TARDIS was only going to get higher.

"I think the real question is where are we and how are we getting home?" said Gregor.

"None of you have any sense of adventure."

"You're aboard the TARDIS," the Doctor explained.

"It's a spaceship and time machine," Ianto cut in.

Joey scurried back to Chase's side. He bent over, as though reading something on the tiger's head, and announced, "We're in Singapore. In the mid-1700s."

"Thanks," the Doctor said, "ruin the surprise."

Joey put her ears back and growled at him.

Olli pointed. "Since no one's going to ask, why's there a tiger?"

"Her name's Joey." Chase beamed. "She's actually a large spider-like robot that projects hallucinations into your mind."

"So, still want to go home?" The Doctor leaned against one of the large, squiggly columns and grinned, as though having a mind-altering spider robot on board was the best recommendation one could give. "Or you could stay and see the universe. Like I said, Earth will be fine, and I can drop you off just an hour after you left whenever you want."

"You're encouraging them to stay?" asked Jack.

"They're clever. Killed two Daleks. You only ever killed two Daleks."

"Yeah, by _myself_."

"You're being immature, Jack," Ianto said.

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Just because you want the Doctor to yourself--"

The Doctor spluttered.

Jack threw up his hands. "They can stay! I don't object. German, clever, and hot, perfect combination." He winked at Olivia.

"Does anyone have a change of clothing I could borrow?" Christian asked.

Chase pointed in the direction of the living quarters. "There are a bunch of extra rooms further down the hall. Just pick one. They all have bathrooms."

Ianto headed over. "You look about my size. I'll try to find something."

"I'll help!" Olli said, jogging after them. Definitely dating.

"You mean you actually wear something other than suits?" Chase called after Ianto as they disappeared through the doorway.

Gregor exchanged looks with Olivia. His gaze slid down to her crowbar, and he shrugged. "We'll stay. It could be fun."

"We'll need clothes," Olivia announced. "I say we go shopping."

"In eighteenth century Singapore?"

"I've always wanted to see Christian in a kimono."

"That's Japan."

"Whatever."

"Hold on," Cuddy said, "how am I supposed to get a toothbrush in _eighteenth century_ Singapore?"

"What is with you people and the past?" the Doctor replied. "You think people only became civilized when you were born?"

Jack rolled his eyes, but Cameron replied, "Admit it, civilization is defined by the existence of automatic toilets."

"Actually, on Gallifrey, we--"

"Whoa, whoa." Gregor held up a hand. "Too much information."

"We don't have money," Chase noted.

"Oh please, you think I don't have gold on board?" The Doctor bounded off into another hallway. "This way, come on, metal is heavy, you know."

"Gold?" Olivia squealed. "How much do you think he has?"

"Don't even think about it," Cameron said as she wheeled past. Olivia stuck her tongue out at her and muttered something about cheap perfume and prostitutes.

The passageway twisted and wound, so that they followed the Doctor more by the sound of his footsteps than by sight. The Doctor clearly believed in consistency, because the console room wasn't the only place that resembled the interior of a tree. In fact, everything had an organic appearance, with some of the walls possessing folds and knots, while the ground felt like it angled up, letting them climb in circles so that any moment, Cuddy expected to see the sun break through a canopy of leaves.

Jack tapped her arm and pointed at a doorway. Inscribed in maybe size eight font along the right side of the frame was the marking '7A3.' The door they'd passed was 7A2 and the next one over was 7A5, which implied Ianto's "kinky" room probably connected the two.

The procession ground to an immediate halt as the Doctor yelled, "Don't you dare, Jack!"

"We'll check it out later," Jack whispered, grinning.

If anybody had hoped for a large treasure stash, they were disappointed. "The problem is, every once in a while, I've had to jettison rooms from the TARDIS--well just once, actually, but if it happened once, it could happen again--so it's best to spread valuables around," the Doctor explained as he fumbled through a box of hammers and extracted four worn coins from the bottom. Then they moved on to the next room, where he found a bar of gold and two silver blobs in a stocking.

"Have you ever lost a bedroom?" Chase asked.

"Well, yes, _oh look, necklaces!_" The Doctor threw four shell necklaces behind him as he continued rummaging through a locker. They hit Jack square in the face. "These are worth a lot, actually. Good for bartering."

"We were talking about bedrooms," Chase pressed on.

"Don't worry, I moved the ones you have close to the control room. They're within a buffer zone that never gets ejected. Honestly, it's not a common occurrence."

"Who wants these?" Jack jangled the necklaces as though tempting a cat.

Olivia contemplated them. "How much are they worth?"

"_Tons_," the Doctor insisted. "And more portable than gold. What humans don't know is that there's a planet, Kelpax, that's littered with those shells. They spontaneously materialize--it's a phenomenon I want to investigate some day. They pay tourists to take them away because otherwise the planet would begin fusion processes within a decade."

Jack suddenly found himself empty-handed. Olivia had three and was disputing possession of the fourth in a tug-of-war match with Cameron.

"You don't need that many," Cameron snapped. "What do you want to do, buy the whole island?"

"Maybe!"

"You're stealing from the handicapped!"

Gregor hefted the gold bar. "Let go or I'll tell Olli."

Cameron's wheelchair tipped as she suddenly won the match, but she regained her balance just before capsizing. Olivia stuffed the remaining three into her purse. "That one looks better on you anyway. It matches your face."

Chase made a face. "They look like shriveled mushrooms."

"Exactly." Olivia sauntered out of the room and thus missed the Doctor's discovery of an extremely large diamond.

Three rooms later, they'd amassed enough wealth to buy a meal at an airport, so they headed out.

--

A heavy mist lay on the North Sea such that Sir Patrick Spens could barely make out the bow of the ship from his position beside the wheel. Luckily, the chances that they would hit floating ice was minimal, as they were barely moving. Whether something would hit _them_ was another matter.

It was cold, the night showing no signs of spring, though he admitted they were still closer to winter than summer. Nevertheless, a few more hours would bring the sun, which should burn off the fog and allow them to proceed, even if it was with rowers.

"'Tis a bad night to be out of your cabin, cap'n," Unlucky Rocky, his first mate, said. "You should be in bed."

"Superstition," replied Sir Patrick. After all, his first mate's nickname had come about merely because he was unfortunate enough to be born on a Friday the Thirteenth with a poorly chosen name. As for himself, Sir Patrick's own family had begged him not to go on this expedition, reminding him of the ballad he'd spent a childhood learning to ignore. He'd pointed out that if his father hadn't been stupid enough to give him that first name, they wouldn't be having this discussion. It wasn't like they were the only trading vessel on the North Sea at this time of year.

"_Oooh, under the sea..._"

Despite himself, he whirled around to face Rocky, who had turned so pale his face blended in with the fog. They'd heard _singing_--ethereal voices. It couldn't be the crew--though he'd heard some of them pursued unusual activities during shore leave, which might explain the corsets he'd found on board a week ago.

"_Darling it's better down where it's wetter, take it from me!_"

Rocky pointed a trembling finger at the darkness beyond the railing. "It's coming from over there."

"Nonsense. I don't hear any singing at all."

"Then how do you know I'm talking about singing?"

"Uh..."

They heard a sound like an arrow hissing through the air, followed by a clank as a grappling hook locked onto the railing. Sir Patrick unsheathed his sword and charged, screaming: "Pirates! All hands on deck! Pirates!"

He brought his blade down upon the rope so hard it dug into the wood beneath. The length tumbled into the white abyss below, but he heard neither the splash of a human body hitting water nor the thud of the rope hitting a boat.

_SPLAT!_

From beside the foremast, a dark, glistening form rose up from the deck. His mind jumped to the image of a ghost rising from the grave, and it didn't help that as far as he could tell, the figure's hair covered its face, falling all the way to the waist. He forced himself to step closer even as Rocky backed away, falling down a flight of stairs.

Water dripped down the creature's hair, puddling around what looked to be the outline of a dress. At that moment, the mist cleared enough to let a few rays of moonlight through, and he saw scales flash. He froze, feeling his lungs seize as he saw fins.

Delicate hands that wouldn't have looked out of place on a princess pushed the hair back, revealing the most beautiful female face he'd ever seen, like a lady at King Arthur's court, or like the Lady of the Lake, newly risen from her domain. Against all instinct, he forced himself to look down at her waist, seeing where bare human flesh melded into the body of a fish. He had to remind himself she was a monster, or he'd lose himself in her eyes, her tender skin, her breasts. Oh god, her breasts... _No, look away, look away!_ Too late... did she have no modesty at all? Not even a seashell or a starfish...

"What is your name, good captain?" And her voice. The voice of an angel. Why was the world so cruel? He stammered something along the lines of "Wibba-wah-wooo" and she smiled like a mother caressing her newborn babe. "I am Ariel," she said calmly. "Queen of the mermaids."

"Aren't you supposed to..." he gulped, "...to be swimming alongside or something?" There was nothing in the legends about grappling hooks and acrobatics.

"It's cold in the water," she said, running her hands along her neck and shoulders as though to warm them. "You wouldn't want us to freeze, would you?" The hands moved lower. Lower. Now they were upon her breasts. "You wouldn't want us to get stiff, would you?"

"Us?" he asked, his voice several pitches above normal.

Several more clanks, and this time he saw the forms soaring up and up, then tumbling down toward the deck. All women, their perfect bodies glowing under the moon, their fins swaying in the wind of their descent.

_SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT!_

He winced as they crashed onto the hard wood surface, flopping like dying fish before pushing themselves upright and giving him winning smiles. Part of him was repulsed, but that was mostly just the civilized part of his brain, which accounted for a very, very, extremely teeny-weeny, tiny, small part of his total body mass. The rest of him was drawn to them like a moth to a flame. And like the moth, he felt the heat... it was unbearable, but something told him he could quench it in their sticky, wet embrace.

_CRASH!_ He had enough time to register a large form drop from the sky before he had to duck to avoid the storm of wooden debris that erupted from the newcomer's landing.

Ariel sighed and dragged herself over to the hole in his deck, pulling, grunting and wriggling her way over the ground like an injured horse being set upon by hounds. Somehow, when she reached her destination, she became all poise and grace once more, so that his mind rebelled against the thought of her looking silly in any way. "Oh Toots, I thought I told you to wait down there." In his mind, this translated to: "Oh Sir Patrick I want you to ravish me as roughly as the sea swells pound and for as long as the arctic winter nights last!"

"That is not, _errmph_, fair, _aaaaghhk_, at _all_, OOMPH," said the mermaid called Toots as she dragged herself out of his cargo hold. Describing her as large had been an understatement of extreme magnitudes. She was larger than any opera singer who had ever worn a horned Viking hat, and the bottom half of her put him more in mind of a whale than a fish. He judged her weight at over four hundred pounds, and every bit of that was jiggling as she dragged herself over to him. He had thought Ariel was beautiful, yet Toots managed to make her look like Unlucky Rocky in a corset. If he wasn't still holding his breath from terror, her beauty would've taken his breath away.

"Why hello there, gorgeous," she said when she was just inches from his feet. Pushing herself into a sitting position--which placed her head at the right height for a certain activity that this was not the right time for. "What's your name?"

"Sir, sir, sir--" He shook himself. "Sir Patrick Spens," he said as gruffly as he could. His voice was still an octave too high.

Toots' eyes widened, and she trembled as she let out hoots of laughter at just the right frequency to set the ship resonating, so that the wood seemed to laugh with her. Then she gave him a good-humored slap, but unfortunately, she was at the right height for that slap to be extremely painful. The other mermaids joined in the merriment as he doubled over.

"Well, that makes me feel a lot better," said one of the other mermaids in response to his name.

"Yes, Anastasia, it'd be terrible if we met a sailor who wasn't prepared for us!" exclaimed a fourth mermaid.

Ariel held up a hand and everyone fell silent. "That's enough. I speak for us, remember?" The silence continued, but there was no mistaking it for anything but assent. "Good. Then Sir Patrick, I must tell you something."

He straightened up, though his right leg kept twitching. "All right..."

"You are near shooooooore, Sir Patrick!" Ariel said in as dramatic and exaggerated a voice as possible, waving her hands about. "But I feeeear you shall neeeeeeee'er spy laaaaand!" All the mermaids broke down into hysterical cackles again.

This struck a chord, and anger welled up, overwhelming all other emotions. "That's enough!" he snapped, raising his blade. "Why are you here, and if it is for mischief, then you have chosen the wrong vessel!"

Once again, the laughter stopped as though cut off by a knife, but this time, the air was rife with tension, and Sir Patrick felt his heart beat faster. Ariel slithered over, reminding him of a poisonous slug, and she raised herself up to meet his eyes, balancing on her fins. She caressed his face and drew closer so that their breath mingled and their lips almost touched.

"Do you know the nightingale?" she asked.

"What?"

"We seek the nightingale. Do you know her?"

He had a few seconds to contemplate whether this was a code or whether he had indeed ever heard of a woman called nightingale. Patience seeped out of Ariel's expression like sand from an hourglass, replaced by a vindictiveness that almost overwhelmed her beauty. "No," he replied. "No, I don't."

"Oh." She sank to the floor. "That's too bad." A snap of her fingers sent the mermaids scurrying. There was a clatter like beads clacking together, and he saw a troupe of crabs climb on board. "Sebastian!"

One of the crabs broke off from the rest to join Ariel. He clacked his pincers in time as Ariel counted, "One, two, three, four."

"_Hakuna matataaaa!_" the crab bellowed. "_What a wonderful_-- erp."

The look Ariel gave Sebastian was enough to freeze water in the Caribbean. Sir Patrick was so busy feeling glad it wasn't directed at him that he didn't wonder why a crab could sing. There was some uncomfortable shifting amongst the remaining crabs, who had formed elegant chorus lines.

"No! _No!_" Sebastian said. "Please mistress, let me try again!" He began howling when Ariel picked him up. "_Please! I don't wanna_--" CRUNCH.

Sir Patrick gaped as Ariel tore the crab in half and began chewing on the dripping remains. "Mmm, talent tastes so good," Ariel said, unaware of the tradition of eating with your mouth shut. She pointed seemingly at random, but from the way all the crabs were looking at her target, he guessed appearances were deceiving. "You, new Sebastian, go."

The crab moved so fast he had to slide into position rather than slow down and began singing immediately. "_The seaweed is always greener, In somebody else's lake_!"

"_You dream about going up there_," the crustacean chorus joined in, "_But that is a big mistake._"

The mermaids began swaying. "_Just look at the world around you, Down there on the ocean floor._"

"_Such tasty morsels surround you,_" Ariel continued, also oblivious about the rule regarding not singing while eating. "_What more is you lookin' for?_" She offered him a claw, adding, "It's the meatiest part."

He shook his head, suppressing the urge to throw up, only to be swept into Toots' arms as she started flopping around in an extremely vague imitation of human dance.

_Under the sea, under the sea. Darling it's better down where it's wetter, take it from me! Up on the shore they work all day, out in the sun they slave away, while we devotin' full time to floatin', under the sea!_

Sir Patrick was too busy trying not to get crushed by Toots to notice that as they sang, large barrels were being flung on board by, presumably, the mermaids still in the sea. By the time the chorus finished, the mermaids had some forty containers lined up from stern to bow, having been working as they sang, in true musical tradition.

Finally, Toots let him go and he lay beside the wheel, feeling as though he'd run a hundred miles. Ariel rolled to his side and lay a wet kiss upon his lips. "So how would you like to join us under the sea?"

"I, uh, I don't think so," he said, mind spinning. "Like you said, it's a bit cold down there."

"Oh don't worry. You'll be burning hot soon enough."

As suddenly as she arrived, Ariel disappeared. He heard soft splashes accompanied by giggling, and when he looked up, he was alone again. Breathing a sigh of relief that he'd gotten off so easily, he sat up.

That was when he heard the hissing.

Looking over, he noticed the barrels for the first time. Under the moonlight, he could see faint specks of black powder from where one was leaking. And further away, tiny flames sparked as they drew closer and closer to the nearest container.

"Bollocks!" he screamed, and hopefully, he enjoyed his choice of words, because it was the last thing he ever said.

--

Ianto showed Olli his wardrobe while Christian showered, and Ianto knew something was wrong when he felt awkward about the fact that they weren't going through a closet of suits. Maybe he should take more vacation time. One of the shirts they found still had the price tag attached.

"Let me guess," Olli said, "you're a workaholic."

"We monitor a rift in space and time. You don't ever really switch off from something like that." That wasn't strictly true. Gwen seemed to manage, going so far as showing up late every once in a while. But then again, that was, in a way, part of her job description.

"That's the only reason?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"So it has nothing to do with the looks you keep giving the captain?"

"It _did_." He flung the black t-shirt across the room in disgust. "I can't believe I used to wear anything this tight. Nothing will fit him."

Olli grinned. "_I_ know that. How do you?"

"My father was a tailor. You learn to size people up."

"Good, or I might have to start getting jealous." He laughed.

The door slid open and Christian emerged in a towel. "You're not fighting over me already?"

"Yes, Mr. Macho. Everybody wants _you_."

"So did you find anything or were you too busy comparing notes?"

Olli tossed him some boxers. "You can try the other stuff on, but you'd better not plan on moving."

"Or breathing," Ianto added. "Let's check out the Doctor's dressing room."

"The Doctor?" Both men asked incredulously. The only thing skinnier than the Doctor was a scarecrow.

"He can change forms, so I'm guessing he wasn't always that thin. Anyway, he has all sorts of clothes, so he probably plans for his companions too. I mean, we could try some of Jack's things, but that opens a whole other can of worms."

Christian shrugged. "Whatever you think is best."

Ianto hesitated a moment, suppressing the urge to put everything back in place, before he guided them out. "We should all change, actually," he said, his mind racing ahead. "It's probably better to blend in with the local culture."

"And what is the local culture?" Olli asked.

"Chinese, Indian and Malay are the predominant ethnic groups." It didn't take long to reach seven alpha three, and the door opened as though anticipating their presence. When he noticed Christian looking around for a motion sensor, he explained, "The TARDIS is sort of alive. I don't know the details, but if it--uh, _she_, according to the Doctor--likes you, you'll find life a lot smoother. I think the rooms sometimes shuffle around, so if you're looking for something, keep an eye on the numberings on the doors, because you might find the one you want much sooner than you think."

"What if she doesn't like you?" Christian asked.

Olli gave him a small peck on the cheek before disappearing behind a rack. "Who could resist you?"

Ianto glanced at a board with rows of dried celery pinned to it and wondered whether he should throw it out. "If the Doctor lets you on board, I'm guessing the worst she'll be is ambivalent, in which case you'll have to walk a bit more and open your own doors." The celery was definitely molding, which was something he'd never been able to notice on celery before, but on the other hand, maybe time lords had strange ideas about collectible items.

Christian approached the nearest door and gave it a cautious look. It swung open, and he grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. Then he froze and shot Ianto a confused look. "Is there something we should know about the Doctor?"

"Oh." Seven alpha four. Right. The four meter square room with handcuffs lining the walls. "I asked him about that. He dodged the question, but I can tell you they're not for arrests."

Olli reappeared carrying three sets of robes and studded leather. "Have you seen his collection of scarves? It's amazing!" Ianto mentally dressed himself in one of the outfits and discovered he looked like a terra cotta warrior come to life. He wondered what Jack would say.

Before he could continue or terminate that thought process, rapid footsteps echoed down the hall, and the Doctor yelled, "Jack! I told you not to sneak back here!" He slid into view, hair standing up even more than usual, and caught sight of Ianto and realized his mistake. "Oh," he said, instantly calming down. Then he caught sight of Christian. "_Oh_."

Ianto grabbed a green set of robes and began undressing. He wasn't sure why he felt such an urgent need to change in front of the Doctor, but he couldn't stop now that he'd begun or it'd become even more awkward. "Personally, I expected you to lock that room the moment I mentioned it," he said.

The Doctor blinked and turned away. "Yes, well, I _did_. The TARDIS must really like someone." Christian beamed. "Incidentally, the rest of your friends are wandering around the flea market in shorts and t-shirts. Except for Jack, who's still wearing that ridiculous greatcoat."

"You wear a coat too," Ianto pointed out. "Anyway, it's a little cold outside."

"It's never cold in Singapore. And how do you know it's cold?"

"Weather readings in my room. Twenty degrees. Below average, I'll admit, but I can't imagine the TARDIS being wrong. So mind explaining the handcuffs?"

"They're sonic. _And don't you dare tell Jack._ You should've heard what he said about my screwdriver."

"How do they work?" Ianto couldn't resist. Few sonic artifacts came through the Rift, but he'd heard stories from Jack. They were quite advanced technology, which explained the rarity. He took one pair off the wall, causing the Doctor to dash forward. 

"That's not a good idea!" he yelled.

His fingers found a release along the insides, and with a click, the outer band of metal came loose. He spun it and instantly heard a shrill squeal.

"Duck!" the Doctor yelled, tackling Christian and Olli as a shockwave of blue light burst forth. When the dust cleared, Ianto found himself lying in the far corner of the room, covered by manacles, which had all flown at him as though magnetically attracted. None had fallen anywhere else.

In the dressing room, a hurricane had blown through, knocking everything out of place and creating a carpet of fabric half a meter thick by stripping the racks clean. The Doctor appeared to have experienced the same problem with object magnetism, though in his case, the objects were the pieces of celery pinned to the board. He plucked one out of his hair and nibbled the end, eliciting several groans of disgust from the others, Ianto included.

"Hmm," he said, "brings back good memories."

Ianto thumbed the safety latch back into place and set the handcuffs aside. "Now I know why you said they were dangerous."

"You know, sometimes you're as bad as Jack."

"I blame it on the work environment."

"Right. So if we're done playing with my toys, get dressed and head out. There's a bargain on fresh fruit and coffee beans. That's always been a problem--never have enough fresh fruit. I should just plant some apple trees in the cloister room."

--

The smell of incense was a little overwhelming as Chase perused the little shop. Wicker cages hung from the ceiling, each containing several little yellow birds, chirping and fluttering about. Joey's tail lashed as she surveyed the creatures, which she informed him were parakeets, seeming a little annoyed that he couldn't identify them on sight. The shopkeeper eyed her nervously, but Chase didn't want to tell her to wait outside. Red curtains covered the windows and doorways so that the primary source of light was several braziers placed around the room, making the atmosphere hot and stuffy. In the backroom, he caught sight of several scantily clad woman moving around, visible by the glimmer of their jewels, and he had the vague suspicion that if Joey left, someone would either rob him or persuade him into joining them in some form of obscene behavior.

He really liked the birds though, even if Cuddy had warned him against bringing aboard any more pets.

The curtain over the doorway parted and Jack Harkness burst in like a bulldozer through foliage. "Did your parents not let you have a dog when you were a kid or something?" He grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him out.

Chase waved happily at the shopkeeper. "Maybe I'll see you later!" She looked pleased to see him go, which was disappointing. He turned back to Jack. "What's the hurry?"

"That was an opium den."

"Oh." So maybe the birds weren't for sale. That would explain a lot.

They took several turns to emerge out of an alleyway into a bustling market. Several chickens squawked at their appearance, flapping against the confines of their cage. "Look!" Chase pointed at a stall further down. "Ducks!"

"Yes. They like their poultry fresh."

Chase gaped. "What? They eat the ducks?" He made a beeline for the vendor but Jack grabbed the back of his shirt. After a brief struggle, the captain was victorious. "Let me go!"

"You can't buy the ducks!"

"Why not?"

"Because lots of ducks get eaten every day. And also, the others would kill both of us."

"You're not my appointed guardian."

Jack waved a leather pouch in front of his face. "You gave all your coins to Cuddy, remember?"

The pouch vanished into his pocket when Chase made a snatch for it. "I'll barter then." He began turning around but Jack grabbed his arms and forced him to hold still.

"You don't want to turn around right now."

"Why not?" Chase tried to turn his head but realized that, since both of Jack's hands were occupied, he'd probably get kissed if he tried. He held still, and at that moment, heard quacking cut off by a _thunk_. This was followed by a soft whimper that he realized came from his own throat. Shaking Jack loose, he dashed away in the opposite direction and ran straight into a gruff-looking man with enough weapons on him to run his own arms dealership. 

Realizing his mistake, Chase backed away until he felt the reassuring pressure of Joey behind him. "Uh, terribly sorry."

The man took in his appearance and his scowl became replaced by a predatory smile. "That's quite fine. Apple?"

"No, my name is Chase. Oh." The man was offering an apple. "Uh, sure. Thanks."

"I am Hector Barbossa. You look new to these parts."

"Well, yeah, just a little..."

Jack barged into the conversation, and Chase breathed a sigh of relief. "Captain Jack Harkness. Nice to meet you."

"Aye? A captain. Which vessel in the harbor is yours?"

"I don't know if I should tell you that," replied Jack, crossing his arms. "You look like a rogue pirate to me."

"I wouldn't call myself a rogue. Much too old for that."

Chase's jaw dropped. "You're a pirate?" Joey circled around to sit in front of him and bared her teeth at Barbossa.

"Relax." Jack patted him on the shoulder. "It's the 1700s. Everyone's a pirate."

"You know that from personal experience, do you?"

"No. I was a century late. But, you know, you hear things."

"A century late?" Barbossa didn't seem fazed by their discussion, but Chase felt it was best if they left as soon as possible. He noticed Cuddy at that moment, standing right behind Barbossa.

"Do you have any toothbrushes?" she asked the vendor. "People tell me you're the only one who makes any worth buying."

The old man nodded. "Ah, you are just in time. Our products are very high quality, and I have one brush remaining. I will get it."

"_What?_" Barbossa roared. "No!" He turned around and lunged at the stall. "I was here first!" So that solved the problem of how to distract Barbossa, but now Cuddy had him by the collar, foiling their perfect opening for an escape.

"No, no, no!" the seller yelled. "No fighting allowed between my customers!"

"The customer is always right," Barbossa growled, hand on the hilt of his sword.

Cuddy let him go. "Fine. But I was here first."

Barbossa removed a handful of silver pennies. "I'll pay twice the price, whatever it is."

"I'll double anything he offers!" Cuddy dropped a gold coin. The shopkeeper's eyes went wide. Then he scurried off and brought back a single toothbrush which, while not shabby, didn't hold a candle to anything sold at, say, K-Mart, except for that fact that it lay on a velvet cushion. Chase wondered if the padding felt as soft as it looked.

Barbossa added four gold coins to his pile of silver. Cuddy put down everything Chase had given her. The pirate was glaring at her, and Chase decided that, Rambo or not, Cuddy couldn't defeat him unarmed.

"Uh, maybe we can just pick up a toothbrush somewhere else," he said, tapping her shoulder. Cuddy gave him one glance, then looked over to Jack.

"Oh good. Give me your money, Jack."

The captain sighed but handed over his pouch.

"Shouldn't we be getting away?" Chase asked.

Jack's eyes grew distant as he stared at Cuddy's heaving bosom. "I love an assertive woman."

"There are thousands of pharmacies! Can't we just go to one of those? Stop bidding against a pirate--this isn't eBay!"

Cuddy paused long enough to snap, "We've been bouncing around like pinballs for the last three hours! Do you really trust him to find us a drug store? Here, I don't know how much this is worth, but I'm sure it's more than the lecherous old swordsman has."

"Actually, I have another bag." Barbossa cackled. "And if you permit me to go back to my ship, I can give three times anything she has."

"No, no, I wouldn't trouble you to do that," the shopkeeper said, clearly doubting Barbossa would ever return if he got his hands on the toothbrush. "What is present is sufficient to complete the deal."

"Excellent." Barbossa poured out a pile of gold bracelets that stacked higher than both their previous amounts combined. Chase decided not to point out that, technically, the highest bidder won; you didn't have to blow the other person out of the water. 

Cuddy looked crestfallen. Everything the Doctor had scrounged up didn't equal a quarter of what Barbossa just produced, and thanks to the pirate's earlier offer, they couldn't go back to the TARDIS and look under the mattresses for more. Barbossa winked at her, recognizing her expression as one of defeat. Then Cuddy looked up and said, "I'll trade you Jack!"

"Okay, _now_ it's time to go," Jack said, snapping to attention and pushing Chase in the direction of the TARDIS. Cuddy grabbed him and forced his arm behind his back so that he couldn't move without dislocating his shoulder. "Ow! When'd you learn to do that?"

"Self-defense classes at the university." She turned back to the shopkeeper. "So what do you say? Strong and handsome shop assistant, _extremely_ hardy."

"Hey look!" Chase said. "Isn't that Olivia?" Maybe Cuddy would get in a fight with her and forget about the toothbrush. Both women looked annoyed enough.

The three necklaces swung in Olivia's hand as she stormed up to them. "The Doctor lied to me! These are worthless!"

"Really?" Jack was rather calm for a man with his arm twisted behind him. "I know for a fact he was telling the truth."

"Yeah? Try telling that to Angela Merkel on steroids back there!" She switched to an exaggerated Asian accent: "_I sell master work, not silly shell on string. Come back when girl move up from whoring in fish market._"

Jack choked down a snort of laughter. Olivia threw the necklaces at Cuddy in disgust, and the shopkeeper looked up from counting money to investigate the new source of commotion. His face lit up as he caught sight of the shells.

"Why didn't you tell me you had those?" he exclaimed. Then, as though terrified, he bowed before her. "But of course, you must be a noble woman to possess so many. Perhaps someone visiting Lady Elizabeth? Of course, it is not my place to ask, and one would never part with something so precious for a mere toothbrush. Forgive me."

Olivia looked awfully like a fish at that moment. "You mean _these_?" Cuddy asked, shoving the necklaces at the little man. He cringed back, afraid to touch them.

"Yes, of course. More precious than gemstones."

"I'll give you all three for the toothbrush," Cuddy said. Olivia opened her mouth to protest, but Jack took the opportunity to twist away from Cuddy and ended up falling into her. They went down in a heap. Cuddy ignored them.

The shopkeeper reached for one, fingers trembling as though suspecting a trick. He tapped a single shell, then jerked back as the string swung like a pendulum. "No, I cannot accept them. They are too valuable. But... perhaps... my lady would be willing to part with one?"

"Of course." She smiled as Barbossa growled at her.

The toothbrush entered her possession with a lot of bowing, and the shopkeeper retreated with his precious find. "Please, you are welcome to your coins," he said before departing with all his wares. Chase wondered whether he'd come back or if that necklace could buy him a house from Lady Elizabeth, whoever that was. Probably the governor's wife.

"I hope there are no ill feelings," Cuddy told Barbossa as they swept their money back into bags. She tossed the remaining necklaces at Olivia as she tucked the toothbrush into her bra. As she looked around for a place to discard the box, Chase pounced and relieved her of the burden. It was, indeed, every bit as soft as he'd imagined. He let Joey sniff it before securing it in his backpack, which he'd liberated from the hospital shop before departing. It had Powerpuff Girls on it, but one couldn't be picky in a ravaged, burnt-out store.

"Absolutely not. It was fate." Barbossa offered a hand and Cuddy shook it. "But if you are feeling gracious in victory, perhaps you could show me where you are staying. I don't meet travelers like you every day, wealthy and dressed so strangely."

Chase shook his head. "He's a pirate!"

"And you're a coward, but I don't hold that against you."

"I'm not a coward!"

"I'm afraid I can't," said Cuddy. "But I'll buy you a drink to make up for it."

"That's a deal, lass."

Joey gave him a confused look as Cuddy and Barbossa departed amiably. Chase shrugged. "People are weird sometimes. Just... if you ever have to ask for an explanation, don't ask House."

"House heard that," Jack reminded him.

"Shit."

"Anyway, it's not that I trust Barbossa, and I don't think Cuddy does either, but when you're traveling with the Doctor, you have to take a laid back approach to things or drive yourself crazy. Thirty bucks Barbossa tries to steal the toothbrush."

Chase had a few mental images he'd rather not have imagined, considering where Cuddy had placed her prize. Jack got that distant look again. "No bet," Chase replied. "Fifty that Cuddy beats him up for trying, though."

"Arm hold or strangulation?"

That was easy. "Arm hold. Barbossa has knives."

"I don't know how much experience you have with gambling, but higher-valued bets are placed on less-likely events."

"When you work with House, you take what you can get. So... deal?"

"Deal." They jogged after Cuddy and Barbossa, but pursuing them wasn't hard as their clothing stood out in the crowd. Several minutes later, Jack added, "You owe me if Barbossa doesn't make a move, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Because I don't think he's interested in the toothbrush anymore."

"How do you know?" Why did he always go against people who could outwit him?

"He's been following us ever since we left the TARDIS."

--

"They're called durians," Gregor explained.

Cameron hefted the fruit--about the size of a melon--in her hand, though not with much force due to the large spikes on the husk. "I remember hearing something about them smelling."

"These aren't ripe yet." He dug through the pile and extracted one which didn't look much different from the rest. "Ah, here we go."

The smell hit her before he handed it over, and she started gagging. "Oh my god! Put that away." She imagined a cross between curdled milk and something that had been killed and left in the sun for a while.

"Guess we'll just take the mangos." He handed some money over and stuffed the thirty they'd put aside into a canvas bag the Doctor lent them. "They're really quite good if you give them a try."

"Maybe the Doctor has something that'll take away the smell."

"But the smell's the best part!" the Doctor enthused, his sudden appearance causing Cameron to start. He grabbed a durian and inhaled. "Ah, reminds me of Snelfaeton Three. Brilliant cooks there. Make these delicate vegetable smoothies with little umbrellas."

Ianto, Olli and Christian appeared beside him, and she gaped at their outfits. Gregor burst out laughing, shaking so hard she took the sack away from him before he hit someone with it. "Did you guys raid a museum?" he asked. Cameron stuck a mango in front of her nose to block out the smell, hoping the Doctor would put down his newfound-love some time soon.

"Did Cuddy find a toothbrush?"

Cameron shrugged. "We lost the others a while ago."

"No problem." The Doctor fiddled with his screwdriver until the light went on without any accompanying sound. "Hello? Jack? I know you're there. Pick up!"

A flicker of static coalesced above the tip of the screwdriver into a miniature Jack Harkness. "I didn't know you had my number," he said.

"It was a general call; I figured no one else would answer. Where are you?"

"Just follow my frequency. We're in a pub, and Cuddy's trying to drink a pirate under the table. Chase is complaining because he thinks if Cameron were here instead of him, she'd have stopped her."

Great, as if Chase hadn't learned to stand up to his boss every once in a while. "Tell him to try anyway," Cameron snapped. "Maybe she'll think I'm still in his body."

"What?" the Doctor asked.

"Let's not agitate her any more than we have to," replied Jack.

The Doctor did a quick head count with his screwdriver, causing Jack to complain about dizziness. Then he said, "We're missing one person. Oh, yes, the, uh..." he paused and glanced at Olli, then continued quickly. "Is Olivia with you?"

"I think she went to beat up Angela Merkel. Wait, no, there she is. Yes, she's dangling her goods at a merchant."

"_What?_" Olli cut in.

"The necklaces," Jack amended, waving his free hand carelessly. "I'll see you soon." He blew a quick kiss, then pressed his wristband and the image faded.

Ianto came over to push her wheelchair as the Doctor set off, pointing his screwdriver at every side street as he tracked the signal like a hound on the scent. Gregor intercepted him. "Please, allow me." Cameron shot Ianto a minor eye roll as he assented and stepped aside. He just smiled back.

It wasn't that the attention wasn't flattering, but just as she found herself safe from Jack Harkness' notice--she supposed that between House, Ianto and Cuddy, he was busy enough--along came another man to flirt in his place. She had promised Owen a date, so her schedule was quite full as far as she was concerned.

"You're not interested in Jack because he can't die or get sick," Chase had told her as they packed for their trip. She didn't bother to point out that they hadn't known about his resurrection habit until Cuddy slipped up after being harangued by Ianto for an hour about their foursome.

So sure, Gregor was handsome and suave and knew a lot about cooking. But he wasn't her type, and by that, she didn't mean someone with a terminal or chronic condition. Owen didn't have a chronic condition (at least, not that she knew of), unless you counted irritability, and anyway, they had met under stressful circumstances. There was no telling what he'd be like when he relaxed. _Except there is no downtime with Torchwood, apparently._

"Cameron?"

She realized Gregor had been saying something. "Sorry, what?" They were outside a ramshackle tavern, and cheers broke through the walls like they were paper. With luck, Cuddy would not be at the center of attention.

"I said this is no place for someone injured. Maybe we should go back to the TARDIS and wait."

"No!" She saw the Doctor stop and look back at her, and she blushed. "I mean, I'm quite fine. It's not every day you're in eighteenth century Singapore."

"Well, for the people who live here, it is," the Doctor replied.

Gregor didn't bother to press the issue and pushed her in. The smell of tobacco and alcohol hit her the moment they passed through the door, and it took her a few moments to adjust to the darkness. This establishment had no windows, though light sneaked in through cracks in the wood. Flames burned in lamps all around the room, which was such a safety hazard it didn't bear thinking about, and the straw littering the floor compounded the danger. The patrons had arranged chairs and tables in a semi-circle--one that could have been drawn by a hyperactive first grader--around a man and a woman with shot glasses laid out before them. Jack and Chase were making rounds collecting wagers. She sighed.

Ianto leaned over and yelled into her ear, "I don't suppose she's going through a mid-life crisis?"

"I don't know!" Maybe the TARDIS wasn't such a bad idea. She could see if Owen was around for a videoconference. Waiting any longer would cause him to think she was backing out of their date, and that wouldn't do. Not that they had anticipated a long-distance relationship of this sort in the first place, but she suspected the time vortex fazed him less than the hospital cafeteria.

The pirate opposite Cuddy glanced at them as they entered, then grabbed a nearby man and pointed, whispering something into his ear. The approach of a veiled woman distracted Cameron from the contest.

"Welcome to the Sib Zamini. Perhaps you would prefer a room where it is quiet?"

The Doctor kept staring at Jack but replied, "Yes, yes, that'll work." Ianto had to drag him away.

"What's your name?" he asked the serving woman as they circled around the counter and entered the backroom. It turned out to be as large as the main area and furnished in the same manner. Only seven patrons sat here, though, each slouched over a separate table and drinking out of tin mugs without looking at anyone else.

"Bousseh, sir."

"Well, Bousseh, I'm the Doctor, nice to meet you. Sorry, but I couldn't help noticing a lot of the staff isn't local. I believe they're speaking Farsi amongst themselves. Is this a Persian establishment?"

"Why yes, it is. You are a scholar?"

"Sort of. I guess you could say that. What are Persians doing out here?"

"We are just trying to make a living. Like everyone else."

"Yes, but why Singapore?"

"Pardon, but my brother is calling." She indicated a man motioning for her from the bar. "If you need anything, ask Niki."

"Will she answer my questions?"

Bousseh glided away. "Niki is very shy."

"Of course." The Doctor flopped into a chair. "See, that's shady."

"Why?" Gregor asked. "Because she won't answer your questions? If you asked me what I was doing with a coffee house, I wouldn't be able to give you much of an answer either."

"Yeah, but you live there."

"So Persians aren't allowed to live in Singapore?"

"It's uncommon, so many of them. And all running a tavern? None of the patrons are Persian."

"I think you're being obsessive," Cameron said.

"Look, when you've been around as much as I have, you start noticing things."

Ianto nodded. "Things that tend to turn into alien threats."

"So the Shah is an alien?"

"Your attorney general turned out to be one. And the governor was a collaborator."

A new server approached them, this one dressed similarly to Princess Leia in her gold bikini, only with more tassels. "Why hello," Gregor said, striking a pose. "You must be Niki."

"Yes," she replied, her soft voice drowned out by a sudden roar of laughter from the common room. She quivered, as though the sound shook her constitution. Cameron found herself feeling sorry for her. Anyone that delicate shouldn't be scantily clad amidst a crowd of corsairs.

"Do you make coffee here?" Gregor asked.

Ianto perked up. "Yes, I hear the Persians make excellent coffee."

"The Colombians make better," the Doctor said, receiving several glares. He was sitting with his back to Niki and thus did not see what the other men were seeing. "What? They don't put drugs in it, I swear! Not the type I drink, anyway." He reached over to pat Niki's hand, saying, "Sorry, no offense to..." His face contorted as he missed her hand and, trying to figure out what he had touched, felt his way along her waist, tracing the outlines of a thong. "Whoa!" He jerked away and toppled off the chair. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Cameron gave her a sympathetic look, but she winked back. "I'll bring a pot." She was gone before the Doctor extricated himself from his coat, which had managed to wrap around his head as he fell. He glared across the table at Ianto, but because he was sitting on the floor, looked like a petulant six-year-old. "You could've warned me."

"I assumed you knew you should have a dollar bill in hand before you tried that."

Gregor put his head down into his arms as he broke down laughing. She elbowed him in the ribs but didn't get much of a response. "That's not what I meant!" the Doctor protested.

"You're objectifying women," she told the two men. Ianto looked confused and Gregor shook harder with laughter, so she decided to appeal to his brother, who had been sitting apart from the table with Olli, their heads together as they discussed something in a low whisper. "Aren't they, Christian?"

Their conversation broke off and Christian gave her a deer-in-the-headlights look. "What?"

"Oh never mind."

"Yes, exactly!" the Doctor said as he clambered back onto his chair. "I did it on accident but you were ogling her."

"You're not changing the subject that easily." Ianto grinned. And here she'd thought he was a proper gentleman, with his suits and calm manner. The man had probably been around Jack for too long.

Niki returned with the coffee in a tall silver jug with an S-shaped neck. Their mugs were earthenware painted with bright colors, sturdy but still out of place in this dim, ramshackle establishment. Gregor paid her with more coins than was strictly necessary but she didn't comment. Niki could use the money, and maybe he'd stop chasing after Cameron if he had other women to distract him.

At that moment, Cameron felt goose bumps, and she finally understood the phrase about someone walking over her grave. There was a shift in the atmosphere, something she couldn't pinpoint, but she shifted uneasily. Then she understood. Quiet had come upon the tavern, and everything was so still she could hear a fly buzzing. Christian and Olli looked up, also sensing something wrong. The Doctor eyed the common room like a cat facing down a dog.

"She's cheating!" someone roared.

"Now wait, wait, let's be reasonable," she heard Jack say.

"He was helping her cheat!" another person yelled. "And the blondie boy too! They rigged the wagers! You ragamuffins!"

Another long silence. "Really, Bob?" the first person asked. "'Ragamuffin'? That's the best you can come up with?"

"Does it matter?"

"Beat them up!"

"_YEAH!_"

The thud of fists connecting preceded Jack flying through the doorway amidst a spray of glass. He crumpled at the Doctor's feet, followed by Chase several seconds later, who was much luckier, as Jack had taken out all the bottles along the way and was also a soft spot to land on. The Germans leapt to their feet, Christian falling into a boxing pose. Ianto remained stationary but removed his gun from the holster. The Doctor gave them all a dirty look, but before he could admonish them for their aggressiveness, a flying flagon crashed into his head. He fell sideways against the table and flopped onto the floor like a dead fish. Gregor and Ianto rescued the pot of coffee before the Doctor could knock it over.

Cameron leaned forward and seized Chase's collar. It didn't look like he had a concussion, so she used her threatening voice. "What just happened?"

"Jack sneaked her shots of water that she switched with the vodka."

"And she got caught?" A crowd was forming beyond the counter while the barkeeper tried to keep them out.

"No, no, the back room is for quiet!" he said. "Don't break anything! Wait here and I'll kick them out for you." How helpful...

"God, the woman should be a magician," Jack mumbled, rubbing his head. "Her hands do incredible things."

"No, some idiot came and stole one of her shots," Chase explained. "And found out it was water."

Olli ran up from behind her. "The only exit is the way we came in," he announced. Another glass bottle flew through the doorway. Ianto leaned aside and let it fly past just inches from his ear.

"Oh screw it," the barkeeper said as the mob seethed closer. "The whole place is ruined anyway. Have fun." He dodged under the counter, and the pirates roared past.

A gunshot stopped them cold. Ianto stood behind the table, his gun smoking as he stared at them, implacable as a glacier. Sure, they had the numbers to overrun them, but these were _pirates_. No one would want to risk being the one who got shot.

Jack grinned and cocked his own gun. "Not so tough now, are you?" He sneered at their cutlasses, which wavered for a moment before they vanished and became replaced by muskets. Cameron found herself staring into over forty barrels. "Oh." Jack exchanged glances with Ianto. Chase took the opportunity to duck behind her wheelchair.

"Coward!" she snapped.

"You're already injured! A little more can't hurt."

"Where the hell is Joey when we need her?"

Chase grimaced. "I ordered her to wait outside..."

"It's obviously a life-threatening situation!"

"I told her to wait until I came back out, no exceptions. I was afraid she'd freak people out."

"Great. Just great."

"How about this?" Ianto proposed. "No one wants to die, right?"

The crowd stared until someone in the back yelled, "Right!"

"You just want to beat someone bloody but have a good laugh about it over a drink tomorrow!"

This time, his audience was much more enthusiastic. "_Yeah!_" they yelled in unison.

"So how about we drop the weapons. Good old fashioned fist fight. With chairs and tables, of course."

"What about bottles?" a man with an eye-patch up front asked.

"One bottle per person. No cheating. That good?"

"Aye!" Over a hundred swords and guns clattered to the ground. Suddenly, Cameron's chair jerked and she looked up to see Gregor taking hold of the handles. "What are you doing?"

"You're injured; you'll be safe out of the way!" He gave her a push and sent her careening into a corner of the room.

"Hey!" Chase protested. "I was hiding there!"

She crashed into a table and the chair tipped, balancing on one wheel for a second before steadying and landing properly. She wheeled around, ready to join the fray, but an all-out brawl had already erupted. Many of the pirates didn't seem to care who they were fighting anymore and threw punches without worrying about who they hit. One bit the ear off another, but both took this in stride and then allied to beat up a third pirate who'd dared to whack them both over the back with a chair leg.

Jingling announced the arrival of a serving woman, and she swung around in time to see Niki and Bousseh approach her. "I'm sorry about the fighting," Cameron told them. "We--"

"All is part of a plan," Bousseh said.

"Well, that's a very zen approach, but I assure you we can pay for damages."

Niki wrung her hands but didn't say anything, and Cameron realized something wasn't quite right. Bousseh removed a vial from her belt and, twisting the cap off, stuck it under Cameron's nostrils. She jerked away, hands dashing to the wheels of her chair to escape. Bousseh snapped something at Niki so quickly Cameron couldn't catch the words. Niki hovered a little while longer before dashing over and holding Cameron's wheelchair in place. Bousseh grabbed her hair and forced her face toward the vial. With nowhere to go, she could only hold her breath, but even that wasn't working. The smell permeated up her nostrils, and she sneezed. Her subsequent inhale caused the smell to hit her like a hammer, and her vision blurred.

"I'm sorry," Niki whispered into her ear as she slumped forward and lost consciousness.

--

Christian feinted to the right and followed with a quick jab of his left fist, sending his opponent to the ground. He'd had some doubts about how appropriate his boxing training would be for a bar fight, and indeed, the pirates didn't fight fair, but they also fought without thinking. As long as he kept a cool head, he could anticipate their next move with fair accuracy. The lingering question was how hard he should hit. He was loathe to use his skills to injure someone, but they weren't in twenty-first century Germany, and sometimes violence was unavoidable. He settled for knocking them out and tried his best not to leave any permanent injuries in his wake.

A yell attracted his attention, and he saw a man with a three-foot long beard and a two-foot long table leg charge Olli, whom he'd taken care to keep behind him at all times. He flipped a chair over and jabbed its legs at the oncoming threat. The chair splintered in half but the pirate went down. From the corner of his eye, he saw Olli throw a vase, and when he turned back around, noticed someone stagger away from him, clutching his head. The entryway to the main common area was only a meter away.

"Christian! Help!" Gregor waved at him. Four people separated them, and Olli picked up the table leg from the downed pirate and swung. Two people separated them. Meanwhile, Gregor and Ianto were still passing that pot of coffee between them, depending on who needed his hands free to fight.

"Just forget the coffee!" An opening appeared, and he dodged between the two, dragging Olli behind him. Then there were four of them in a circle, their backs to each other, which made for much better odds. "Okay, if we charge the door, we should be able to push through."

Ianto nodded. "On three. One, two, _three_!"

Yelling at the top of their lungs, they ran forward, bowling over the remaining pirates. As they were about to reach the counter, Gregor stopped, causing the three of them to trip. "We have to get Cameron!"

"What?" Ianto gasped. "Where'd she go?"

"I pushed her into a corner so she'd be safe!"

"You pushed her into the corner of a room we were trying to escape from?"

"Fine, I'll do it myself. Here, I turn the coffee over to you. Guard it with your life."

"As if I needed telling," Ianto muttered as he caught the pot. At that moment, hands grabbed Christian by the shoulders and lifted him over the counter. Another pair tried to seize Ianto but met the scalding surface of the coffee pot.

Christian grabbed an overturned wine bottle as he fell to the floor and smashed it against his assailant's head. Someone else's fist connected with his temple, and he went down in a daze. He fought down the urge to vomit as he tried to get back up. A body fell upon him, and he braced himself for another punch, but none came. Glancing over, he saw the man was unconscious.

Staggering to his feet, he looked around but couldn't find anyone he recognized. The pressure of fingers on his collar caused him to swing around, ready to attack, but he stopped himself at the last possible moment when he recognized Olivia.

"Stop! Don't hit me!" she screamed, shielding her face with her hands. A bald, shirtless man with a chain of earrings that fell to his chest stood beside her, scowling. He had a chain of shells around his neck, so Christian assumed she had bribed him into being her bodyguard. It was working. People took one look at him and the lines of scars that ran from his face down his arm and decided to choose a less imposing opponent.

"Have you seen Olli?"

"One of the serving men put a hood over his head and dragged him into the back! We've got to save him!" Olivia dashed off, and Christian ran after her, his heart pounding. If anything happened to him...

They didn't get far before Chase crashed into scarface. The doctor bounced off Olivia's bodyguard and onto the floor while he remained steady as a pillar, utterly implacable. Chase squeaked before spotting familiar faces and gasped, "They got Cameron and Olli!"

"Where?" Christian demanded. There was no sign of either.

"They went down a trapdoor! Come on." Chase scrambled through the crowd on hands and knees, which wasn't a bad idea, as most of the fighters were focusing on those at eye-level. Christian ducked down when scarface's circle of influence began waning, and Olivia followed his example. Then her bodyguard got smacked in the face by a large platter and went down. She stopped and dashed back, blocking Christian's way.

"What are you doing?" he snarled, giving her a little shove.

She tore the necklace off the man, taking care to keep the shells from spilling, and stuffed them into her pocket.

"You're unbelievable," he told her as they continued moving.

Ahead, Chase dug his fingers between two floorboards and pulled, A panel large enough for Cameron's wheelchair flew open, knocking two people over, while a third backed into the hole and vanished with a yelp. They listened as his screams faded into the distance.

"That's a long way down," Chase said. "Make sure you take the ladder." A chair came out of nowhere and struck him in the back, sending him through the trapdoor head first. Christian lunged for his foot but missed.

Olivia shrugged. "At least he'll have the other guy to land on." She pushed him aside and began sliding down the ladder. Christian looked around to see if anyone else was around, but Gregor was making his way back through the doorway and Jack had the Doctor thrown over his shoulder as he held off four thugs. He didn't seem to realize that every time he turned around, he swung the Doctor into the person behind him. "Are you coming?" Olivia yelled.

"Yes, yes," he replied, grabbing hold of the first rung and beginning the descent. Before he went too far, he closed the trapdoor. Sure, no one would be able to follow, but at least no one would fall on top of them as they climbed, either.

The drop turned out to be fifteen feet, which wasn't as bad as it'd seemed. Chase was waiting for them when they arrived and looked unscathed, save for a rumpled hairdo, as he had, indeed, landed on the other person. "Is he alive?" Christian asked.

Chase nodded. "He'll be in pain for a while but nothing life-threatening, surprisingly enough. He didn't hit his head."

The tunnel was damp, with a centimeter of water on the ground at the deepest point--the floor was concave. Since it ran underground, running was difficult, as everything had turned to mud. The trail was clear, though, because Cameron's wheelchair left distinctive marks. Iron holders anchored into the walls held a row of torches that lit the way.

"Is it me or does this seem like a lot of work for a simple pub?" commented Chase.

"_Simple?_" Olivia injected a good amount of contempt into the word given how hard she was breathing. "There's nothing simple about its owners."

Christian recalled the Doctor's comment about the rarity of Persians in Singapore. "They're pirates too, aren't they?"

"Yes. I mean, it's a profitable enough side venture, but Fafa said the tavern served as their home base for the region."

"Fafa?" Chase said. "Are we talking about the Mr. Frankenstein dangling you on his knee earlier?"

"His name is Fafa and he knew a lot about the area!"

"But the tavern's ruined!" Christian said. "That makes no sense."

"And the owner's brother uncovered Cuddy," Olivia added.

"They started a fight that wrecked their base just so they could kidnap Olli and Cameron? Why would they do that?"

"I hate to break this to you," Chase said, "but as a group, we kind of stood out, even in a port full of foreigners."

"At least _we_ tried!" Christian snapped, pointing at his outfit. He was growing kind of fond of it; the leather had padded many blows during the fight.

"I'm not accusing anyone of anything, but maybe our strangeness suggested we had value."

Olivia clapped her hands. "Maybe we fulfilled some ancient prophecy by showing up!"

"This isn't a movie! We're still on Earth!"

Chase groaned. "Don't mention prophecies. Prophecies always involve something blowing up and lots of people dying."

"I see light!" Christian exclaimed. Sure enough, the torches ended some thirty meters away, leaving the end of the tunnel in darkness, save for a shaft of daylight shooting down from the opening above. Shadows moved in the light, indicating the pirates were close. Christian grabbed the ladder as soon as he was in range and shot up it, skipping two or three rungs at a time in his hurry to close the distance. The last pirate climbed out and saw him coming. Barking out a command, he kicked the hatch shut, but Christian threw his weight against it before it could close and pushed through. There were three Persians guarding the exit, which opened into an alley. They drew their scimitars, but Chase and Olivia rushed through the entrance and ran into them before they could swing. Christian picked up the hatch and threw it at the last pirate.

He looked up in time to see the trailing edge of Bousseh's dress turn the corner. "That way!" he yelled.

The alley opened back into the marketplace, and the crowd had grown since they entered the tavern. He jumped up and down, hoping to catch a glimpse of their quarry over the heads of all the shoppers, but nothing stood out. "Shit!"

"Let's ask if anyone saw anything," Olivia said, grabbing a nearby man and smiling at him.

"You can flirt later!"

"It doesn't hurt to ask directions!" she snapped back. "Excuse me, did you see a group of pirates barging their way through with a woman in a chair?"

The man laughed. "You're new here, aren't you?" He shook her off and proceeded on his way.

"See?"

"It was worth a try!"

"Now we've wasted time!"

"Shut up!" Chase screamed. "You go that way and Olivia and I will head the other direction! We can cover both possibilities."

"Ooh," Olivia said, stroking his arm. "Why am I coming with you?"

"Because you two seem intent on biting each other's heads off. Plus Christian doesn't need help in a fight."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. Typical.

Before they could execute the plan, a deep rumble emitted from the ground, and cracks split the ground, sending up clouds of dust. Those less steady on their feet tumbled, spilling the contents of their shopping bags in every direction. The three of them grabbed each other to brace against the shaking, which lasted almost ten seconds before ceasing. Stalls tumbled and chickens went wild as their cages bounced off.

"Okay, just an earthquake," Christian said. "Let's get moving." But he spoke too soon, as a moment later, a pillar of fire blew apart a building across the square, sending burning pieces of wood in every direction. The flames reached close to fifty meters into the sky and hadn't died down before a giant rock hand reached out from the crater and slammed against the ground, obliterating half the market.

"See?" Chase cried, pointing a shaking finger at Olivia. "Prophecies! This is what happens when you mention prophecies!"

The head that followed the hands out of the ground was made of granite, large enough to belong to Optimus Prime and carved in the image of an Aztec warrior, complete with stone headpiece and real feathers, though Christian had no clue what sort of bird could provide colored feathers to match the scale of the figure. The stone man let out a moan, like the earth crying, as it heaved its mass out of the hole and clambered to its feet, easily achieving the height of the flames that preceded its appearance.

"Now we should definitely run," Olivia said, breaking off in the direction Chase had indicated, which happened to be away from the monster. Chase didn't look back as he dashed after her.

Christian sighed. If the pirates had taken Olli the other way, that meant he had to get past the moving statue, which was at this moment kicking away the few stalls that remained standing. Taking a deep breath, he charged, weaving through the mass of screaming shoppers and dodging the earth and wood flying up from the statue's feet. The creature spotted him, the only person heading for it rather than running away, and decided to reward his individuality by trying to swat him like a bug. At the last possible second, he leapt aside as its open palm crashed down. A shockwave of air erupted from the point of impact, sending him tumbling like a paper plane caught in a storm. He thumped back to the ground only to see a second hand dropping from the sky.

He rolled aside in time to get caught between two spread fingers. The statue tried to close the space between its fingers and crush him, but its hand had buried into the dirt and gotten stuck. He took the opportunity to clamber over the back of the hand, but it pulled free before he could reach solid ground. As the stone rose, it catapulted Christian into the air. His trajectory followed an arc over its shoulder and through the thatch roof of a building down the street. Dust and straw accompanied him as he crashed through the attic, managing to avoid rafters before smashing into the floor and landing on a pallet in a dimly lit room.

Every part of his body screamed in protest as he groaned and rolled over. He found himself staring into the empty sockets of a skull on the floor beside the bedding. He yelped and began scrambling away when it spoke. "Hello," it said in a British accent. "How nice of you to drop in. I don't get visitors often."

"Uh," he replied. Screaming _You're a skull!_ didn't seem polite and was, anyway, a rather obvious thing to say. He settled on obvious but practical instead. "Hello. Excuse me, but am I dead?"

"Not yet," the skull replied. "I'm James Norrington. What's the commotion outside? Are they here?"

"You mean the giant killer statue?" He tested moving his limbs one by one. Nothing seemed broken. Wriggling his toes, he confirmed they still worked.

"Oh." Norrington emitted a sigh of relief. "No, the rock golems are just the advance guard. The main army isn't here yet."

"How reassuring."

"Yes, exactly." Norrington didn't seem to understand sarcasm, but then he added, "That means we still have a chance of getting off the island alive. And by 'we,' I mean 'you.' I'm quite dead already, in case you haven't noticed."

He tried sitting up. It felt like a hundred horses trampling on him but worked out. "You're not doing too badly."

"I suppose," the skull replied bitterly. "If you follow my instructions, I can get you on a departing ship."

"I have to rescue my boyfriend! He got kidnapped by Persian pirates."

"Ah, that's good then."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. Pirates usually have ships. It means he'll get off the island alive, so if you're smart, you'll pursue a similar line of action, though I don't recommend getting kidnapped on a general basis."

"If I help you get away, will you help me find him?"

Norrington chuckled. "You assume I want to flee." He paused. "But for Elizabeth's sake, I suppose I have to. I don't know how you think a talking skull could help, but very well, we have a deal. Get us both out of Singapore, and I'll help you save whoever you want."

--

Jack finally caught up with Gregor, who had been weaving in and out of the backroom several times for no apparent reason. Maybe the guy just liked to fight. Jack, on the other hand, was getting worried the Doctor might start glowing from all the hits he'd taken to the head, and that wouldn't be good for anyone. Well, maybe his eleventh incarnation would be less bony, but he might also end up ginger and spend all his time staring into a mirror instead.

Gregor looked relieved to see him. He sat against the wall, pretending to nurse a black eye, but when he lowered his hand, the worst he had suffered from the fight was tussled hair. Jack approved. "What are you doing there?"

"They've pretty much forgotten who they were originally fighting," Gregor explained, "and it looks like they'll be tired or unconscious within a few more minutes, so it's easier just to wait it out."

"We should make sure everyone else is okay!"

"Yes, but you looked like you wanted me to wait for you." He got up. "Let's go."

They sneaked into the common room by virtue of ducking below the average pirate's height, thus escaping attention. Nobody remained standing except Barbossa, who was carrying Cuddy out the door in his arms. "Stop right there!" Jack yelled. He was a little surprised when Barbossa obeyed.

"I was just taking her outside to your friends."

"Sure, yeah..."

The pirate shrugged. "Look, I don't resent her cheating. I paid off the bartender to do the same for me." Beside him, Jack heard Gregor sigh.

"So what happened to her?"

"Some of the others got mad and forced a few shots down her throat," growled Barbossa, eyes flashing malice. "They're the ones with extra lumps on their heads."

"Stop that, House!" Cuddy yelled before drifting into semi-consciousness again.

"I'd hand her over but you appear to be at full capacity," Barbossa remarked.

"I have two shoulders."

Before Barbossa could respond, bursts of flame shot up across the city, accompanied by minor tremors. They stepped away from the building as its walls crumbled. The relocation turned out to be a better decision than they could've known, as a massive eruption knocked them off their feet and columns of fire transformed the place into a pyre. The ground below began crumbling, setting off a stampede away from the epicenter. As they ran, Jack realized their group was much smaller than it had been. Ianto was with them, but he was the only addition. Gregor must have come to the same conclusion, because he yelled, "Where'd everyone go?" He slid to a halt and grabbed Jack. "They better not have still been inside!"

"We didn't see them!" Jack replied. "They must have gotten out before us."

"Then where'd they go? My brother wouldn't leave us behind!"

"I didn't see any of them come out," Ianto replied.

At that moment, Chase and Olivia came running down the street. "Run!" Chase screamed. "There's a giant rock golem coming this way!"

Jack caught his arm as he passed and forced him to a halt. "A what?"

"A two-hundred feet tall rock golem!" Chase repeated. "And shit! You didn't tell me one was chasing you too!"

"What?" They all looked up in time to see a massive stone man emerge from the ruins of the tavern and start jogging their direction.

"How'd you get out?" Gregor demanded.

"Uh, trapdoor," Chase said. "The Persians kidnapped Cameron and Olli. We chased them but got lost, so we split up."

"We?"

"Christian went the other direction."

Gregor did some quick counting on his fingers. "That's everyone still alive," he replied, giving Jack a look that made him feel like he had narrowly escaped certain death.

"Where's Joey?" Chase asked.

Gregor blinked. "Almost everyone."

"You mean Joey's still over there?"

"Forget the robot!" Olivia screamed. We're going to get pinned between two giant statues!"

"I agree," Barbossa replied. "If you're talking about that tiger of yours, well, tigers can take care of themselves."

"Not against giant rock men!"

"Come on!" Jack started running, and Gregor and Olivia dragged Chase screaming and kicking away from the tavern.

"Where are we going?" Ianto asked.

"We should head to your ship," Barbossa suggested.

Ianto frowned. "Do you think we should--"

"He's not going to steal the TARDIS," Jack pointed out. "One pirate isn't a threat. Let's go!"

"We're going the wrong way if you want the harbor," Barbossa told him.

Jack glared. "You know perfectly well we're talking about that blue box."

"Oh. So you caught me staring, did you?"

Cuddy moaned. "That's the last Vicodin prescription I'm writing you!"

"Arrr, I hate talkative drunks."

They reached the marketplace, which was pretty much in ruins--those parts that weren't burning down, anyway. The TARDIS stood unscathed between two flaming buildings, but two men had tied ropes around her and were pulling with all their might to no avail. Barbossa shoved them aside and slashed the ropes, allowing Ianto to move in and fumble with the key. Both golems were hot on their heels, the earth trembling with each step they took.

"Captain!" the skinny one with an eye patch said as he recovered. "We can't move it!"

"Shut up!" Barbossa snapped.

Jack glared. "You were trying to steal the TARDIS."

"That was before these creatures attacked! I'm a pirate; spare me the moralizing."

The door swung open, but the golem from the tavern threw a wagon at them, forcing Ianto away from the door. Jack didn't move but instead threw the Doctor into the TARDIS before the wagon bowled him over. He half-expected to be crushed and wake up later, but the vehicle was so damaged it split in two as it struck the ground, sparing him most of the impact. Instead, he flew some ten meters down the street and survived.

A light wind started up as the familiar whooshing sound of the TARDIS dematerializing filled the alley. Jack stared as the door swung shut and the blue box vanished with only an unconscious Doctor inside.

"DOCTOOOOOOOOOR!" Chase screamed, as though he were auditioning for the Time Lord version of _A Streetcar Named Desire_.

"Angel of death indeed," Barbossa muttered. A giant foot stamped down where the TARDIS had been moments before. "Fine! To _my_ vessel then." He dodged through the ruins of a one-story building, heading straight for the docks. The others hesitated only a moment before following, except for Chase, who went straight between the golem's legs and ran for the tavern.

"Goddammit!" Olivia yelled, chasing after him. Jack went after her, because Ianto could take care of the others.

The golem bellowed and scooped all three of them up with one smooth movement. Olivia screamed, Chase kicked before clutching his foot and whimpering, and Jack activated his wristband, hoping it would emit a sonic frequency capable of shattering stone. The sound was inaudible to human ears, but the creature clutched its head with both hands and screamed. They had just enough time to slip through its fingers before its palms slammed against its temples, and they slid along the sleeve until they fell onto its shoulder.

As it flailed, trying to find the source of the sound, the golem crashed into the other one. It shuddered, a crack running across its chest, and Jack nearly fell before getting a grip on one of the folds carved into its collar. The other golem responded by pushing the first one over, lifting it up, and tossing it across the city. Only a quick scramble into the headdress of feathers saved them from being flung off as the golem struck ground, taking down three buildings, and bounced into the air again, this time short an arm and a leg.

Once it stopped bouncing, it started rolling, and Jack was beginning to notice a problem as the seashore drew closer and closer.

"Can we let go?" Chase asked.

Jack shook his head. "We're going too fast!"

At last, the statue skidded to a halt in the middle of the three-meter-deep gash it had plowed. The head teetered over the edge of a cliff, and a gusting wind threatened to dislodge the feathers, which were already bent and bedraggled. The statue emitted a sigh like the surf and became still.

"Well, that was close," Olivia said. She unwrapped herself and began climbing toward the neck.

"Wait! Stop!" Jack screamed, but it was too late. Her heel came down on the base of his feather, which was already frayed, and it snapped like a twig. Jack felt a lurch, and then he was plummeting toward the foaming waves, probably churning because of sharp rocks just beneath the surface, and he closed his eyes, thinking this was not one of his preferred ways to go.

When he struck something, it wasn't hard, cold water but rather a soft cushion of air, letting him down like a feather bed deflating under his weight. He opened his eyes and found himself in a blue oasis. Walls of water loomed overhead, curving as though held out by a large bubble of air, and sunlight shimmered through the movement of waves above. Two women stood to his right, one in silk robes, the picture of elegance, the other wild and untamed, with dreadlocks falling to her waist and small, white crabs circling her feet.

"I know you said help would come from above," the first one said, "but this is ridiculous."

Jack shrugged. They were pretty, and he suspected he needed their help too if he wanted to get back on land. "I'm Captain Jack Harkness," he announced. "What can I do for you ladies?"

--

The harbor was burning by the time they reached it. Four golems tore through the piers, swinging at ships still in their berths, while three more waded into the water, trying to form a blockade. Ianto counted twelve ships that had escaped the island, which didn't amount to much, considering hundreds were in port. The rest were either shattered or sinking.

"I don't think we're getting out this way," Gregor said.

"Have faith, matey," Barbossa said. "See that beautiful vessel with the black sails? She moves fast as the wind, the _Black Pearl_ does."

"She's out in the water," Ianto said. "I don't see any tenders."

Cuddy stirred. "If you're going to photocopy your butt, at least make sure you don't have a distinctive birthmark there! Everybody, _pants off_!"

"What kind of hospital does she work at?" Gregor asked.

"Tai Huang!" Barbossa roared. A Singaporean rushing by paused.

"Barbossa! You're alive!"

"Why hasn't the _Empress_ set sail yet?"

"We are waiting for our captain!"

Barbossa stormed over and grabbed the man. "Elizabeth is dead! If you want to live, sail now. I can captain her."

"No! You're famous for stealing ships, but this one will never be yours."

"You're putting your lives in the hands of a woman who jumped off a cliff!"

The man remained resolute. "Captain Turner will come."

Barbossa spat in disgust and returned. "We'll have to find another way."

"Yeah, steal a ship, brilliant plan," Ianto told him.

"I'm a pirate! How many times do I have to tell you? _This is how we do things!_"

"The golems are headed this way," Ianto said. "What if you signal the _Black Pearl_ from the other end of the dock. If she's as fast as you say, she can pull in, get us aboard and leave before the golems come back for her."

Cuddy slapped Barbossa. "No running during surgery!" The pirate looked ready to kill, any sense of protectiveness about her long gone.

"Hold on, let me try something," Gregor said, snatching the pot of coffee from Ianto. He ran over, forced her mouth open and poured a cup's worth of liquid into her mouth. Cuddy gurgled and flailed before her eyes shot wide open.

"Where the hell am I!" she snapped. "Let me down!" Barbossa dropped her, and she yelped as she landed on her bottom. When she tried to get back up, she remained wobbly, but Ianto rushed over and let her put an arm across his back.

"Okay, let's get moving!" he told the others.

The golems ignored them as they ran past, too intent on destroying the remaining ships to pay heed to mere humans. When they reached the end of the dock, Barbossa removed a skyrocket from his pocket and lit it using a burning hull. The firework soared into the sky and exploded in a burst of red sparks. Everyone held their breath. The _Black Pearl_ began turning, and Barbossa's two lackeys let out a cheer.

"Mind explaining why the city's suddenly burning down?" Cuddy asked him. "I don't remember reading about giant rock men in history books."

"The human race is very adept at covering up and explaining away anything out of the ordinary."

"Hush!" Barbossa hissed. "This is a very exact procedure. Now, when she approaches, they'll drop three rope ladders over the side. Pintel, Ragetti and I will go first. The rest of you follow afterward. We'll have to run out into the water, but not too soon, or you'll get pulled under. The ship will not stop moving, because it can't. Got it?"

A golem roared and stomped into the water, sending up waves tall as a person. It thundered its way toward the _Black Pearl_, trying to intercept her, but the ship was indeed faster than anyone expected and raced past, avoiding a swing of its fist by less than a meter. The waves were giving her trouble, though, and before long, it became clear that unless she beached, she would tip once she entered shallow water.

"Back up, back up!" Barbossa yelled. The hull hit the sand with a sickening crunch, like a thousand beanbags getting crushed at once. The ladders went down before the _Black Pearl_ stopped, and the crew put down long oars to push her back out into the water.

Pintel and Ragetti went up the ladder like monkeys, getting aboard within seconds. Ianto motioned for Gregor and Cuddy to take their places, and he followed Barbossa. The _Pearl_ began sliding backward before he was halfway up, but two golems were converging on them now, one from the sea and the other by land. As he clambered over the railing, the ship shook and cannons fired from her port side. The blasts caught the golem in the water in the chest, and it staggered backward. Starboard fired, taking the legs out from the one approaching by ground. It began dragging itself forward with its hands, but Ianto could tell it wouldn't reach them before they set sail.

The port cannons went off again, but the golem dodged the cannonballs. The _Pearl_ swung around enough to catch the wind in her sails, and she shot away like a swimmer off the block. The golem struck the water, sending out a massive wave, but the ship turned enough to catch the crest, and then they were out of range. Three golems remained further away, but Ianto saw they could outrun them.

The crew cheered as they cleared the edge of the island and reached open water. Barbossa ordered them to circle at a distance and await the _Empress_.

"I thought you said their captain was dead," Ianto said.

Barbossa grinned. "I lied."

"Hail the other ships!" Cuddy demanded. "We need to know if the others made it off."

"The other ships aren't waiting to chat," Barbossa replied. "And they left long before us. If your friends survived, they'll be leaving on the _Empress_ and we'll see them soon enough."

But at that moment, a flare of light caught their attention. As they watched, the entire city erupted into flames, flashes of red and orange engulfing the skyline while lightning crackled across a clear sky, and struck targets across the island. As the sound of thunder reached them, a shockwave of dust and debris exploded from the center of the city, the expanding ring leveling every building and ship still standing.

"Brace yourselves!" Barbossa cried. Ianto grabbed the side of the ship as the eruption reached them, tearing through sails and snapping the mizzen mast in half. It was like a wall of darkness sweeping across the ocean, and visibility dropped to zero as the primary debris struck them. Ianto felt the ship buck and shake as they were tossed further out to sea. Barrels of supplies rolled down the deck, one striking him, but he shut his eyes and held on, hoping he'd still be alive when it was over.

A heavy layer of dust covered everything as the last of the blast dissipated. Roiling water surrounded them for as far as they could see, and Singapore was nowhere to be found. The rigging was snapped or hopelessly tangled, and Ianto could see a long journey of rowing ahead of them. Silence smothered the ship as each person stared in the direction where he or she thought Singapore most likely was, and he knew that one question weighed on everyone's mind: _How could anyone have survived that?_


	25. Chapter 18: Escape From Singapore

**Chapter 18**

**Escape from Singapore**

Elizabeth surveyed Captain Jack Harkness, eyeing him up and down, and up and down, and then a little further down.... Shaking her head like a wet dog, she demanded: "Who are you?" Then she glanced over at Calypso and muttered, "It's not like you to leave the front door open."

"Would you prefer I kill him?" the goddess responded.

"You can try, but it won't do much good for you," Jack said. "Now if street gossip serves me, you're Elizabeth Turner, ruler of the island and recent jumpee off of the cliff I just fell from."

She nodded. Against her better judgment--one shouldn't trust a man who could smile like that--she found herself inclined to confide in him. Something about him told her he could help, even if he had the swagger of a pirate. "This is Calypso, a nymph with power over the seas. I've summoned her to me."

"Seems you came to her, not the other way around."

"While Calypso can't harm the pirate king or any who serve her, she isn't sworn to obey me. The only way to summon her is to force her presence."

"Ah, a game of chicken. Jump into the ocean, and she has to save you. Maybe I should try that with Ianto, though I suppose 'Help, I'm drowning!' won't carry much weight with him."

Unsure how to respond to that, she gave him an authoritative stare. The man shrugged it off and replied, "Whenever I die, I always come back to life."

"That's impossible."

"We're standing in a bubble of air under the ocean with a sea goddess while giant stone statues ravage the island, and you want to lecture me on what's possible?"

"_What?_"

"I said--"

She waved a hand to cut him off. "Giant stone statues."

"Of course--you've been down here. Singapore has been invaded by... something. Fifty-foot tall stone statues erupted out of the ground and started blasting everything in sight while rampaging across the island."

She turned to Calypso. "If Singapore's in danger, I have to return at once." The goddess nodded and pointed to the other end of the bubble, opposite Jack Harkness. A platform of foam coalesced out of the wall of water and drifted over to hover above the sand. "Thank you for all your help." Elizabeth stepped onto the foam cloud. Jack had taken barely a step closer when she held out a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"What, you're just going to keep me here?"

"No. You say you can't die?"

"I can die, but I'll come back to life."

She grinned. "Then you're exactly who I need."

Jack looked at the foam, then at the dome of water overhead, then back at her. He sighed. "Really? I hate drowning."

"If you don't agree, you can come with me, but you'll have my eternal gratitude if you do me this favor."

"Eternity's a long time when you're talking to me, baby."

Nevertheless, he was thinking about her offer, and that gave her time to think about him. He had an accent like he was from the colonies, but he was unusual, even without considering his claim to immortality. Jack took the strange in stride and responded with even stranger claims, yet she also saw a hint of desperation, both in his stance and in the way he acquiesced to many of her commands. For example, he could've stepped onto the cloud, but he'd waited for her permission. That meant he needed something from her too, and that was a fact she could exploit.

"I'll do it," he said.

She smiled. "Thank you. Now when you come back to life, you'll be on the deck of a ship called the _Flying Dutchman_. The captain's--"

"Whoa, hold on. A ship? You want me to deliver a message to a ship. What's so special about this ship that you have to drown me to--" He glanced at Calypso. "Oh. This is a _very_ special ship."

"My husband, Will Turner, captains the ship. It is his job to ferry those lost at sea to the land of the dead. Therefore, I need to send a message to him through someone who has drowned, and since you resurrect, that satisfies my need to stay as moral as a pirate king can be."

"How handy."

"I hope you don't mind getting wet, Captain Harkness.

"As long as you don't either. I love a woman who's not afraid to get wet."

She struggled not to roll her eyes. There was another Captain Jack she'd like this one to meet. As though sensing her thoughts, the platform ascended.

"By the way," Jack called after her, "I have two friends on the cliff, Chase and Olivia. Tell them not to wait up for me."

"I'll make sure they're safe, Captain."

As she approached the dome, she held her breath and closed her eyes, but all she felt was warm air billowing against her face. When she looked, she was floating above the churning ocean, and the waves rushed into the bubble like earth collapsing into a sinkhole. Water sprayed up as the ocean filled in the void, bursting upwards like the great burp of a diner who has devoured a feast.

The cliff side rushed past as a blur of grey and brown lines, and she barely had time to look up and notice smoke crawling toward the horizon before she was back on solid ground where she found herself staring into a giant stone eye. Stepping back, she took in the statue's entire length. Painstakingly carved, it might have passed for a real person had it been not been solid grey. The brows were furrowed in a look of concentration, its face forever frozen in the instant before a warrior's battle cry. A massive headdress covered the top and sides of its head, and real, colored feathers a dozen feet long extended from them, though most were bent or broken from the fall. The figure was carved with a studded leather tunic which seemed to be the only protection this race wore into battle, as the rest of the body was bare except for a short skirt and bejeweled boots.

She had seen outfits like that before. If she had to make a wild guess, she'd say they were from the Americas. _Same place as the fountain of youth,_ she noted to herself.

A rustling of a nearby feather attracted her attention, and two people, a man and a woman, emerged from the headdress. She nodded at them, "Are you Chase and Olivia?"

The man's eyes grew wide. "_Jack_?" he asked.

The woman struck him on the shoulder. "Don't be stupid. Men don't just turn into women."

Elizabeth thought she heard the man mutter, "I did..." as he rubbed his arm, but then the woman stepped forward and said, "Yes, we are. I'm Olivia, this is Chase. Who are you?"

"My name is Elizabeth Turner, pirate king and lord of Singapore. You saw me come out of the ocean--that is where your captain is right now. He has agreed to undertake a mission for me and will meet us later. It has fallen upon me to see the two of you safely off this island."

"We have other friends here too," Chase said.

Olivia shook her head. "I heard that old pirate, Barbossa, say that he would take them to his ship."

So there was an entire group of strangers here. Of course they had attracted Barbossa's attention. "If Barbossa has taken your friends under his protection," she said out loud, "then they are in capable hands." Which was certainly true. What the hands were capable of, she didn't think was a good idea to tell them right then.

"And you have a ship?" Olivia asked.

"The _Empress_," Elizabeth replied. "She should still be in the harbor if I know Tai Huang."

"We still have to save Joey!" Chase blurted.

Elizabeth sighed. Chase was reminding her of a small, petulant child, and right now, she preferred to keep intact her fairy tale image of children as cute, wonderful little friends. "Who is Joey?"

"A robot," Olivia said at the same time Chase said: "A white tiger!"

Elizabeth had never heard of a breed of white tiger called 'robot' but decided that wasn't important. What _was_ important was that Singapore was entirely in flames and it was never a good idea to run into a fire. Nevertheless, that was exactly what Chase was doing.

Before Elizabeth could give chase and knock him to the ground, Olivia grabbed her sleeve and said, "Is Jack coming back any time soon?

"It might be a few minutes, but I can't wait for him. I need to get my own crew to safety, as well as Chase."

"But if I stay here, will I be safe?"

"I can't guarantee your safety if you stay, but there will be a ship at this very cliff within the next fifteen minutes."

"Wait here, or dodge rock monsters in a burning harbor. Hmm... such a difficult choice."

"Stay or follow, it's your decision, but I must go now." Elizabeth ran, and Olivia didn't follow. That was fine--one less person to take care of, and it didn't even violate her promise to Jack, as there probably wasn't anywhere on the island safer than here. Besides, she had that massive headdress to hide under.

Once she drew close to the city, she had to pull out a handkerchief and draw it over her face as a shield. Burning ash and glowing embers blew past her like leaves in a storm, while searing gusts from collapsing buildings drew black smoke back down from the sky into the streets. Within moments, she lost sight of Chase, though she'd been right behind him.

"Chase!" she yelled, her voice muffled by the cloth. She forced her eyes out of a squint to try to catch any hint of him, but her eyes began watering immediately, blinding her further.

"I'm headed for the Sib Zamini!" Chase replied from somewhere ahead and to her left.

A vague recollection of an exotic tavern allowed her to guess where it might be in relation to the marketplace. She began heading in that direction, hoping her memory would pull up the exact spot before she arrived. As she ran, she spotted no sign of any more stone statues, but distant rumbles behind her suggested the attack had moved to the harbor, which meant she was running out of time.

"Damn it, we don't have time for this!"

Chase appeared out of the smoke right beside her and grabbed her hand. She fought down a yelp of surprise as he said, "We're almost there!" Turning away from her, he screamed, "Joey! Here, Joey! Where are you, girl?"

Barks that did not sound like a tiger ensued, and a five-foot long feline terror fell out of the air onto Chase and began licking him. Luckily, he'd let go of Elizabeth the moment he heard the barking or she would've gone down with him. Giggling, Chase patted the tiger on the head and hugged her, muttering, "Good girl! Daddy isn't going to leave you behind."

"Quiet!" Elizabeth snapped. Between gusts of black smoke, she saw two figures moving through an alley, a mane of foot-long feathers bouncing atop their heads. "Those are people!"

Chase peered in the direction she indicated. "The invaders?"

"I would think so."

"Should we follow them?"

She smiled. "I would think so."

Chase groaned. "I was hoping you wouldn't say that."

She ran after them. "You don't think they'll stop with Singapore, do you? The whole world's in danger, and we need to find out what the threat is."

"Hold on!" Chase called. She skidded to a halt next to the turn the two figures had taken. He jogged up beside her. "We should send Joey first; she can tell us if there's danger."

"How can a tiger warn us about danger?" she asked, but at that moment, Chase's eyes widened.

"There's someone behind you!" he yelled, but she'd already guessed that from his expression. She swiveled around, her hand already on the hilt of her sword, but it was too late. Something heavy struck her over the head, and stars erupted across her vision as she collapsed.

----------------------------------------------

The building was made of old wood, withering and fragile to the point of being ready to catch flame even in Singapore's humid climate. By the time Christian and Norrington made it to the front door, the façade had ignited from the heat of passing sparks. The top floor collapsed first, already weakened by Christian's fall through the roof, setting off a chain reaction that brought the front half of the building crashing to the street like an avalanche of timber.

Christian dropped to the ground to avoid the flying debris and rolled straight into the building across the street. The home was abandoned, and he dashed through it, leaping over a toppled dining table to reach the back door.

"Stop!" Norrington cried when he started running in the direction of the harbor.

"What? Why?"

"Head the other way. I can sense them when they're close. It feels like the same magic that brought me back to life."

"The army is coming?"

"Yes."

Christian hesitated but obeyed. Distant, painful-sounding screams spurred him on, though he hated that he was running away from them. "Is there nothing we can do for them?"

"You want to be useful, stay alive," Norrington replied dryly. "Take it from the skull lodged in your sweaty armpits."

"I need one hand free to fight!" he protested as they ran past a stall selling firewood. Christian grabbed the sturdiest-looking stick and paused. "Do you think I should leave some money?"

"I think we're beyond that now."

"I don't want to be a looter!"

"Well, if it makes you feel better..." Christian could _hear_ Norrington rolling his nonexistent eyes. He ignored him and tossed a few coins onto the stand anyway. A moment later, a giant rock fell out of the sky and crushed it.

"Of course, that copper wouldn't have helped us secure passage on a ship anyway," Norrington added.

"Thanks, Mr. Sarcasm." He glanced upward, on the lookout for more falling rocks, in time to see a shadow flash across the sky and disappear behind the roofline of the center of town. "Was that a bird?" When he looked at Norrington for an answer, a second wave of darkness swept over the area, and he was sure that anything that large flying overhead would have caused a gust of wind, but he felt nothing.

"Norrington?" he said when there was no response. The skull remained motionless. Then the jawbone, which someone should have wired to the rest of the skull, fell to the ground. "Shit!" He kneeled down to pick it up and heard an ululating cry from his left. By instinct, he threw up the stick in time to catch the axe swing of a man dressed like the stone statues. The crescent edge bounced off the wood and swung past his ear with two centimeters to spare. Christian followed his block with a punch to the gut and sent the man reeling. The stick came down against the side of his head and knocked the warrior out.

That taken care of, he retrieved the jawbone and tried to put it back in place, but the skull refused to respond. Unless Norrington had suddenly dropped dead, so to speak, he guessed the sudden silence was related to the darkness he had seen, maybe some spell that suppressed magic?

His assailant began moving, so he went over and pinned him to the ground. "Who are you? Where are you from?"

The man's eyes went wide. "You speak the language."

Remembering what the Doctor said about translations, Christian tried to focus on the actual words being spoken rather than what he heard in his head. It was like a whisper at the edge of hearing, almost a premonition, a memory of something that hadn't happened, as though his mind was playing tricks with him.

"Of course I speak the language." But what he heard himself saying was unlike anything he had heard before, in school or on television.

_Pero habla la lengua de los guardas!_ "But you speak the language of the guardians!" And that was Spanish. Guardians... some sort of Spanish sect? A priesthood or a cult? He thought the man sounded reverent but also confused.

"Why shouldn't I?" He hoped he could come up with a better response soon before the man's distrust overcame his awe. He'd have to ask the Doctor more about this translator.

"But you can't be one of the traitors... you don't have the marks..."

"I have been sent." He hoped that sounded grandiose enough.

"Then... are you the nightingale?"

It was one thing to claim a supernatural background, another to admit to any specifics. Christian hesitated, but the man did not. With a yell, he lunged forward and head-butted him. Christian fell but had enough time to twist the axe out of the man's hand. It didn't matter; the man went for his neck instead, and Christian rolled away in time to save his jugular, but the teeth sank into his shoulder instead. He screamed as he felt blood burst from the wound and clubbed the man on the back repeatedly.

"Stop it! I'm not the nightingale, I swear!"

He was a little surprised when the attack stopped. He didn't know why the man would choose to believe him until he heard: "Oh, I forgot. All the prophecies say the nightingale is a woman. How silly of me."

Christian couldn't help glaring even though he knew it wasn't a good idea to appear hostile. "What's your name?"

"Celso." There was no reluctance in his voice. "You are sent by the gods to fight the nightingale!"

"Sure..." he replied, not sounding sure at all. The translation came out booming and confident, and he wondered what the Doctor's machine was doing. Maybe it was trying to protect him, but it didn't seem that way from his perspective, because now Celso was pulling him to his feet and dragging him down the street.

"Come. You must be present at the sacrifice of the thief. The priests will be overjoyed to meet you!"

"Sacrifice!"

"Yes, to cleanse this island of our enemy's touch before we blast it into a smoldering ruin."

They took a turn and arrived at the edge of a crater some thirty meters in diameter. The three-story building they stood beside had been cleanly sliced so that the structure was still standing but the part over the ground where the crater now existed was nowhere to be found. Indeed, the hole was a gradual slope of smoking dirt and rocks. Christian guessed this was where one of the statues had emerged, but there was now a platform blocking where the passage would have been.

The platform was three stone slabs, each successive one three-quarters the size of the previous, stacked one on top of the other like an incomplete pyramid. Tied down by ropes wrapped around small rings embedded in the topmost slab was a pirate. He could tell because his dress was similar to Barbossa's, except his hat was a massive tricorn that had somehow managed to stay on his head through whatever number of adventures had led him to be in a smoking crater in Singapore at the mercy of a supernatural army with giant rock golems.

Standing over him was a priest (Christian guessed his occupation by the extra amount of feathers in the headdress) with a shiny and probably sharp--though he couldn't really tell from this distance--dagger.

"Stop!" he yelled and found his command echoed by Celso.

The massive crowd gathered to watch the ceremony turned as one to stare at them. Christian shifted uncomfortably, but Celso raised his hands and cried out, "Behold, the lost children of the City have returned to us!"

Everyone continued staring. Celso elbowed him and hissed, "Come on, say something in the sacred language!"

"Like what?"

"I don't know! Something nice!"

"Er..." he raised his voice. "It's nice to see you all again! Feels like, uh, home..."

As one, the crowd intoned, "He speaks the language!" and fell to their knees. All of them except the group of priests by the alter.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" the pirate said, trying to gesture despite his bonds. "Me, uh, speak-o that lingo too... oh." The priests glared, but then the man continued smoothly, "All I had to do was use the right language for you to believe me? Come on, are you saying I don't look holy to you?"

With a snarl, the priest brought down the dagger, and Christian winced before seeing that the blade had cut the ropes. The pirate got to his feet and gingerly flicked the last of the hemp off himself. "Thank you very much," he said, heading for the stairs.

"You may not go." The priest gestured at Christian. "Approach, silver-tongued foreigners, that we may test your words for false metal."

"The test!" the crowd exclaimed as one. "The lost children must pass the test."

"That doesn't sound good," Christian muttered, but Celso was pushing him forward already and there was nothing to do but go along with the crazy people.

"You'll do fine," Celso whispered. "If I remember my training correctly, you just have to answer a few questions about the City, but your ancestors will have passed down the correct responses."

"You're a priest in training?"

Celso bit his lips. "I _was_," he said to his feet.

"Any chance they taught you the questions and answers while you were there?"

The young man brightened and let out a laugh. "Oh, you're very funny! I like you already, lost brother."

And now they were atop the platform where the pirate was lounging against the pole which had been intended as the final resting spot for his head. He looked as though everyone was best friends now, though up close, Christian could see tears in his clothes that had to have come from a sword. There was also an arrow hole in the hat. He smelled as though he hadn't bathed in months, which didn't improve the condition of his matted dreadlocks. In fact, it looked like his hair was growing mold.

"Thanks, chap. Great timing," the pirate said in English, giving him a wink.

"You have a plan?" Christian replied in English, hoping the TARDIS would take a hint.

"Do I look like a man with a plan?"

He eyed him up and down, then took a step back when he noticed lice. "No."

"Precisely."

The priest slapped both of them on the back of the head. "Enough! Three questions you must answer. Since there are two of you, allowances shall be made, and one may answer only one, so long as someone answers each."

"Best of three?" the pirate asked.

"No."

He shrugged. "It was worth a try."

"Though its song is sweet, the words are poison. With great wings fleet flies our darkest cousin. Of whom do I speak?"

"Er..." was the pirate's response.

"The nightingale?" Christian guessed. Celso grinned while the priest looked disappointed.

"That is correct."

"Woohoo!" the pirate exclaimed.

"The next one's yours," Christian told him. The priest brightened again and faced the prisoner with a smug look.

"From the water rose the world, from the world flows the water. What are the immortal guardians who swim our borders?"

"Oooh, ooh, I know that one! It was written... er, I mean, written in the sacred scrolls that my mother recited to me over and over from memory when I was a child. _Dientespeces!_"

A lengthy pause preceded the priest's pronouncement: "That is correct."

Christian let out the breath he'd been holding from the moment the pirate fielded the question. Just one more. Let their luck hold...

"Final question. Either, or both," the priest glared at them as though daring both to guess correctly, "may respond."

Now that he knew the pirate wasn't completely brain dead, Christian knew their hopes lay with the one who'd actually had dealings with these people before half an hour ago. Of course, unless the question was about the interior of a prison cell, the pirate might not know much either.

"How many roads must a man walk down?"

Both their jaws dropped at the same time. Their eyes met and both knew the other had no clue what the man was asking. "Take your time," Christian said in English. "Let's just think." He glanced at Celso, hoping he might give a hint, but the young man looked horrified, as though Christian had just killed a puppy. Looking out at the crowd, he saw a mixture of confusion and anger. People had wanted to believe they were some long lost saviors--why a civilization with 50-foot killer statues and the ability to blow up an island needed saviors was not a pressing concern at the moment--and now their faith was dwindling away. The situation was going to get ugly if they didn't answer soon.

"Don't worry, take your time." The chief priest grinned.

Then his eyes fell on the soldiers assembled at the foot of the platform. Something struck him as peculiar about their formation. There was something out of place, something _uneven_... And he saw it. The squadrons were arranged in alternating patterns of seven rows of six and six rows of seven. Glancing at the priests, he saw six standing on each side of the sacrificial platform, but the chief priest was clearly closer to one side than the other.

Hoping against hope, he laughed and said, "Ha ha, got you all worried, didn't we? Thought we didn't know the answer, but it's more dramatic this way, you know?" No one was smiling, but his point was made. Now if only his guess was correct. "Forty-two!" he announced.

The look on Celso's face was all he needed to know he was right. The young man blanked his expression when the priest looked his way, but then he put on a lopsided smile, and Christian knew what he was saying: _Very funny, brother. Very funny._

"That is correct." The priest winced as the pirate whooped and pulled him in for a long hug. The crowd roared as though their team just won the World Cup.

"I always knew we were related, Marques, old buckaroo," the pirate said, taking the opportunity to bend some feathers on the headdress. The priest pried his arms apart and pushed him away.

"On this most auspicious day," the man spat, "we shall honor the gods with our enemies' blood." He waved at thirteen women, six standing in front of seven. "Let's blow this place and get out of here."

"I think that's our cue to run," the pirate said in English. Switching over to Spanish, he added, "Right, chaps, we've got this little, uh, long lost brother ritual that we have to perform once we reunite with our long lost brothers. And sisters. And we have to do it in private. Don't worry, we'll be back in time to watch the island blow. Boom-boom time good, yes? Half-naked people no go anywhere. No getting long lost again the moment we turn our backs!" Without waiting for Christian, he dashed off the platform and set off full speed toward the docks.

Christian rushed after him. "Wait up!"

"How about you catch me!"

It didn't take long for the smoke to build up once they were back amongst piles of wood, and Christian found the pirate doubled over, coughing, two streets from the crater.

"Ah," the pirate said when he noticed him. "Good time. I was testing you, you know, seeing if you were in top shape. Glad to see you are." He coughed some more. "Captain Jack Sparrow, by the way."

There were an awful lot of Captain Jacks in the world, it seemed. And they probably all showed up with trouble. "Christian Mann."

"That's a nice skull you have there," Jack replied, still wheezing. "Just give me a few more seconds to savor the run. Nothing like a nice run after days of torture."

Christian had almost forgotten about Norrington, but he'd kept a tight grip on the skull anyway. Glancing down, he saw the jaw was still detached. "It's a talking skull," he said defensively.

"Ran its mouth off, I suppose."

"I think the priests did something earlier. There was a flash of darkness, and he just stopped."

Jack nodded. "Probably the summoning."

"The summoning?"

"They do this dance, see, and it concentrates their magic. The magic gets so strong it overloads anything else magical. Like if you set off a great big fire, it sucks the oxygen away from any little fires nearby."

"And that magic is to blow up the island."

Jack thought about that. "Don't know about you lad, but I'm ready for more running."

Christian grabbed his arm before he could take off and regretted it when he got slime all over his fingers. Lowering his voice, he said, "Do you hear that?"

"You mean the sound of a great big wall of magic about to blast us apart?"

"I mean the sound of voices!"

Jack listened. "Yes, over there," he pointed. "You have a club, I nominate you to check it out."

Christian raised the piece of firewood. "Coward."

"Well, if you want me to face a bunch of savages unarmed..." His eyes went wide when Christian offered the club to him. "I think it looks better on you. Matches your... uh...."

Christian rolled his eyes. Tip-toeing forward, he saw the outlines of two figures in the smoke. The person closest to him had his back turned, but the other was facing him and would see him coming. Well, there was no helping that. He could take someone one-on-one, and he had the element of surprise.

Charging, he brought the club down, and the first person crumpled. He was coming around for a second swing when he saw the other person was Chase. "Whoa!" he yelled, wrenching back. Chase screamed and brought his arm up to shield himself from the blow, and then a gray shape streaked through the air, seizing Christian's injured arm and bringing him down to the ground. Norrington struck the street and bounced down the alley.

"Wait! Back, Joey, back!" Chase yelled.

The tiger retreated, leaving Christian to inspect the new gashes on his arm. They didn't look like anything a band-aid couldn't fix. Chase looked over the injuries, pulling apart the rips in his sleeve. "They don't look too bad, but-- _are those teeth marks?_"

"It's a long story." Seeing Jack approach, he said, "I picked someone up."

"I got your skull!" Jack said, waving the head in one hand and the jawbone in the other.

"Okay, two people."

Chase shrugged. "The person you knocked out was Elizabeth Turner, apparently the ruler of the island. Everyone else is off the island or about to be."

"Good, 'cause it's about to explode. Does she have a ship?"

"Once she wakes up, we're supposed to go there. Did you just say explode?"

"Elizabeth?" Jack said.

"You know each other?" Christian said. That might make it easier for her to forgive them knocking her out.

Jack removed a small bottle from his belt and waggled it. "I know just the thing to get her going." He removed the cap and put it under Elizabeth's nose. She gasped, started coughing, and sat bolt upright.

"_Jack?_" she exclaimed as her eyes focused on the nearest person.

"I know that look. That's the look Cuddy gets every time she's mad at House," Chase muttered.

Jack retreated with the flask held behind his back. "Can we please get moving? The island's about to explode."

"Barbossa's livid with you."

"Is Barbossa aboard the _Empress_?"

"No."

"Then it doesn't matter. Shoo, shoo."

"Did you just say explode?"

"That's what I've been asking!" Chase snapped.

Elizabeth jabbed a finger at Jack. "No one blows up my island."

He took the finger and pointed it in the direction of the dock. "But the trampling statues and burning buildings are fine?" When she didn't reply, he moved her hand back and forth to emphasize his escape plan.

"How do you blow up a whole island anyway?" Chase continued. "It's not like they have atomic weapons yet."

"There's a circle of thirteen chanting priestesses back there." Christian pointed. "It's some sort of magic overload thing."

"No, no, _no_!" Jack yelled as Elizabeth went for the crater. He whacked Christian on the arm and stole his club. "I'm declaring a mutiny, Elizabeth! We do not run toward exploding women!"

Elizabeth whirled around, and Jack skidded to a halt with less than a centimeter left between his throat and the tip of her blade. "You could catch some tortoises with your back hair and set sail that way."

"I hate to break this to you, but your subjects have eaten all the tortoises around here."

Elizabeth pushed the tip into his flesh and glared. "Fine, fine," he said, handing the club back to Christian when he came up behind him. "You get to stay captain."

"I'm your king, Jack, and it'd help if you remembered that."

Jack waited until she lowered her sword. "So what's the plan, your majesty?"

"Before we wander in, I'd like to point out there's no such thing as magic," Chase said. "I wonder if it might be BRAIN technology."

"Brains? The gooey stuff that comes out when you shoot people in the head?"

"What I'm saying is that there must be a scientific basis behind these claims of magic, and since we haven't seen any obvious signs of technology, then BRAIN seems the only logical explanation I can think of."

"What is BRAIN, exactly?" Elizabeth asked.

"It's a sort of technology that tunes into the brainwaves of humans to allow them to manipulate the physical world around them."

"So you think something and it happens?" Jack said.

"More or less."

"That sounds like magic to me."

"But it isn't!"

"What's the difference?"

"You mean if we have to fight them?"

"Yes."

"Er, none."

"Exactly. Can we borrow your tiger?"

"No!"

"Jack, that skull looks like it's moving," Elizabeth said, raising her sword again.

"So it is." Jack slammed the jawbone back in place and threw it at Christian who nearly fumbled the catch.

"What just happened?" The skull twisted around in his hands like a small kitten.

"You're working again!"

Chase looked sick. "There is no way that's an actual skull that talks. I mean, a talking skull. Why do you have a talking skull?"

"We need to save Olli and Cameron!"

"And you thought a talking skull would help?"

Christian was about to launch into the entire story of how they'd met before he realized that didn't explain much. In fact, he _didn't_ know how Norrington was supposed to help. He just had a rather reassuring voice.

Thankfully, Jack cut into the pause the question had created in the conversation. "Talking skulls are rare. You meet a talking skull, it's got to be something special, right?"

"I'd like to point out that I sense a fully-formed destructive spell of some sort not too far from here, and Elizabeth has run off toward it," Norrington said.

Jack sighed. "ELIZABETH!" he screamed, arms wheeling about as he ran after her.

The priestesses stood in a circle, holding hands and swaying back and forth as they chanted. There were enough to encircle the topmost slab of the platform, five meters above which a glowing sphere of black and purple hovered. It pulsated with the regularity of a heartbeat and sparks danced off the surface like oil on a sizzling skillet. Elizabeth was already half-way through the crowd, which parted to let her through. From the murmur of excitement, it appeared they were hoping she'd both another long lost sibling of some sort, and a great, "Oooooh!" rose when they caught sight of Jack and Christian.

Celso fell in beside Christian as they ran. "Do you bring more lost children?"

"No, no, that's the lord of the island." It was safer to assume the invaders had done some scouting before they arrived, and Elizabeth was a conspicuous figure. "But we're pretending to be her friends so we can spy on her!"

"That's clever! Can I come along? You can pretend I'm your captive! I'll even let you tie me up and beat me."

"I don't think so. But thanks for offering?"

"No problem. I'll hurry ahead and tell the priests not to shoot her."

"Not to--" Christian noticed the rows of archers with their bows drawn. "Oh. Yes, please do that."

On the platform, the high priest had unsheathed an axe, swinging it wildly at Elizabeth whose sword was too flimsy to parry. The women continued chanting, their voices rising into a high-pitched ululation. Christian, Jack, and Chase slid to a halt beside one of them, and Christian saw the other men looking at him expectantly.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Hit them!" Jack and Chase replied in unison.

"They're not armed!"

"They look armed to me!" Chase pointed at the growing ball of darkness. Jack stepped forward and punched one of the priestesses, sending her tumbling off the platform and into the dirt. As one, the others fell backwards, breaking the circle and becoming silent. Overhead, the sphere continued glowing. "That was suspiciously easy."

"It's too late!" Norrington said. "The spell is complete!"

"So we're dead?"

"No, you have five minutes until detonation."

"That's enough time to set sail!" Jack cried. "Come on, Elizabeth, he's definitely not your type."

"_Mmmrrggh!_" Elizabeth had wrestled the axe from the priest, who responded by falling on her. He now had one hand clasped across her mouth, sliding toward her windpipe, while his other hand held back her sword. Christian ran over, but she kneed the priest in the groin and threw him off. "Let's go!" she said, giving him another kick for good measure.

The crowd had begun dispersing the moment the spell completed, probably to put some distance between themselves and the impending fireworks. A path was clear to the harbor, and the only delay was caused by Chase stopping to throw the unconscious priestess over his shoulder and carrying her with him.

"Yes, the spoils of victory. I like your thinking," Jack told him.

"I'm just going to run some tests on her to prove my BRAIN theory."

"Of course. 'Tests.' Elizabeth and I have a lot of 'testy' history between us."

"It must be a natural aptitude for BRAIN," Chase continued, clearly thinking the best course of action was to ignore the mouthy pirate. "I mean, otherwise our entire basis of scientific thinking is incorrect."

The ground shuddered beneath their feet, and a loud roar emanated from behind them. Christian glanced back and saw rows of structures collapsing like houses of cards. The dock was in sight, and one warship remained, its masts now the tallest wooden structures on the island. Further out, a ship with black sails was fading into the horizon.

Two rock golems rose out of the water and stomped toward the vessel, sending wave after wave crashing against the shore. A volley of cannon fire knocked them back into the sea, but they clambered to their feet again soon after.

A gangplank came down as they approached, and Elizabeth acknowledged the cheers of the crew with a small salute. Then they were inside the ship, which began turning. Lightning shot up from the sphere, and Christian counted a minute remaining.

"We're not going to make it!" Jack said, realizing the same thing.

Elizabeth shook her head. "We don't have to reach the open sea." They climbed the ladder onto the deck where her first mate was waiting. She shouted a few words in Chinese, and he ran to the wheel. The ship angled for the shore.

"What are you doing?" Jack clasped her arms and shook her. "What are you doing!"

Calmly disengaging herself from him, Elizabeth pointed out the sloping shoreline. "We have enough time to get around that cliff. With luck, the blast will sweep over us, and we'll be safe."

Christian ran to the railing and noticed the sea was beginning to churn and foam. "What about the rocks?" he asked. The ship now swayed back and forth as the water threw them about. Great walls of spray shot up over the bow and soaked them. Overhead, dark clouds gathered so thick they blocked out the sun. Beneath the cliff, jagged outcrops littered the water, and all of them looked large enough to sink the vessel.

"We'll steer around them," Elizabeth said. From the look on Jack's face, that wasn't as easy a feat as her confidence suggested.

"The spell is going!" Chase announced. A blinding flash of light filled their vision before being blocked out by the wall of rocks. The ship groaned, and they launched over the crest of a wave to crash down between two jagged formations of stone. The air itself began to vibrate as a distant rumbling drew close, and then a cloud of dust swept over them, blotting out the world.

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Ferrying souls to the afterlife was not as exciting a job as the description would suggest. Will Turner knew this firsthand and wondered if that wasn't the real reason Davy Jones had gone off the deep end, in a manner of speaking. Most of the time, the crew hung around in Davy Jones' locker--Will wondered if they should rename it Will Turner's locker, or maybe just Will Turner's fishing hole--and waited for fish to bite. Every once in a while, they'd check the lobster traps, but poor Vernon Hills, the new cabin boy, was allergic to lobsters, even the sight of them, and would turn as deep red with rashes as if he'd been boiled himself. Therefore, they only checked the traps when the kid was asleep, but he had insomnia--on top of the fact that he was mostly dead and didn't need to sleep anyway, having traded a reprieve from the afterlife for service aboard the _Flying Dutchman_--and so lobster pretty much didn't happen at all.

Then someone would die in the real world and Will's squid senses would tingle and the ship would turn upside down and go zoom through the water, which was the only cool part of the job, and they'd pop up on the other side and get out the giant fishing nets to bring up the corpses. Sometimes, dolphins would get tangled in the nets, but Will had gotten so good at freeing porpoises that he held the record of two minutes, fifteen point six three seconds. The only person who came close to his time was his father, Bootstrap Bill, who had a personal record of three minutes fifty.

Every rare once in a while, when Will finished explaining to people that they were dead, that Davy Jones was also dead, and that Will was now doing his job--no, not the terrorizing the seas part, the ferrying dead people part--a sailor would ask to join the crew for some personal reason. Calypso had told Will he couldn't keep them for more than a hundred years or they would start going mad, but most just wanted to stay around long enough to dress up nicely, convince their loved ones that they were a ghost, and say goodbye. The more successful ones also dug up hidden treasure to leave behind or frightened their lawyers into having one last look at their will.

Playing with the kraken was fun, though. Yes, the kraken as Davy Jones knew her was dead, but Will had found her soul drifting along the currents of the Indian Ocean and plunked it into an octopus he molded out of clay. It was a small octopus, barely larger than his hand, because he didn't want to keep anything big and destructive around in case he went crazy too. He chose an octopus because the creatures could crawl around out of the water and play fetch on the deck of the ship. It was an extremely slow game of fetch, but no one had anything better to do.

The kraken was about to make it across the deck in less than three hours, a feat she had accomplished only twice before, when Will felt a new death near Singapore. He perked up, since Elizabeth was near there, and didn't even bother tossing the kraken overboard before ordering the ship to sink. The kraken responded to his negligence by stealing his hat once they were underwater, but he didn't mind.

The corpse was heavier than usual, and once they'd heaved it aboard, Will realized with a shock that they'd fished up not only the soul but the actual body as well. That was odd. Souls usually separated easily. He bent over the body, checking for irregularities and signs of magic, when the corpse stopped being a corpse and expelled a jet of water all over his face.

Will wiped the mixture of seawater and bodily fluids out of his eyes to find his vision impaired by the sun gleaming off a dazzling set of teeth. "Captain Jack Harkness," the teeth said to him. "Sorry that got all over your face. Seems to happen a lot with me..."

An extended hand seemed to be waiting for him to shake it, so he did. "Captain William Turner."

"Great, great, everything's gone as planned then."

"As planned?" Who planned to drown and resurrect just to meet him? "I'm sorry, were you dead?" He'd hoped the words would sound less stupid out loud than in his head, but he had no such luck. Maybe he was going crazy. He looked over to his dad for some reassurance and got it from the fact that the entire crew looked as though they were staring at Christ reborn. A thought occurred to him. "Are you Christ reborn?" Damn, that sounded stupid too. And now he'd missed the man's response to his first inquiry.

"No, it doesn't take me three days unless it's something really nasty like quartering. Ugh, I hate quartering. I think it gives me wrinkles."

"I'm sorry, _were_ you dead?"

"Yes. But now I'm not. While I'm explaining, could you sail a little closer to that cliff? I assume your ship is indestructible."

Will nodded at Leathery Heather, who had the wheel.

"Thanks." Jack flashed that smile again. "Elizabeth sent me, and she's not very good at keeping her word, apparently."

At the top of the cliff, a woman had appeared and was waving at them with both arms over her head. "Help me! Help me! Wait, never mind! Pull back! You're going to crash!"

The ship slammed against the rocks, tilting until the crow's nest lodged against the top of the cliff. Jack cupped his hands to his mouth. "Climb aboard!"

"You expect me to--"

"Climb aboard!"

The woman stomped her feet a few times, but the tide was coming in and waves dislodged the _Flying Dutchman_. As the ship began righting itself, the woman leapt over and landed in the crow's nest with a _thump_.

They waited for her to descend, less out of politeness than from the fact that she looked about to fall. Vernon and Whirly Eddie even brought out some empty canvas bags and held them beneath the mast to catch her, but she reached the bottom without incident. "Where's Chase?" Jack demanded.

"He went with Elizabeth to save Joey, but I told her I'd stay right here where it's safe until someone comes to pick me up."

"I told her to take both of you."

"And I told her I wasn't going. You got a problem with that?"

Will cleared his throat. "Back to Elizabeth. Is she all right?"

"She looked pretty good to me," Jack said. Will's eyes narrowed, and the man said, "Husband, right. I meant her health. It looked very good. She wanted me to pass a message to you, though now that I mention it, she never told me what it was. Nevertheless, since the island looks pretty razed, I imagine you can catch up with her ship and ask her then. It's just important that she needs to talk to you."

For the first time, Will noticed Singapore was not in the best shape if the plumes of black smoke were any indication. "I'll do that. Look, did you say your name was _Captain Jack_?"

"Yup, Captain Jack Harkness. Why?"

"Nothing, except I seem to be cursed. Thank you, Captain, ah, Harkness. It must have taken a lot to do what you did for Elizabeth."

"You mean dying? Seems like it happens every day."

Upon further contemplation, lazy days at Will Turner's fishing hole weren't so bad. No one he liked faced immediate danger, and the catch was good. Nevertheless, Elizabeth was in trouble, and that trumped any other concern of his. Feeling adrenaline race through his veins again, Will Turner took the helm and set a course for the _Empress_. As they raced across the seas, he heard Jack Harkness say, "Nice to meet you, Leathery Heather. Does your nickname mean what I think it means?"

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Cameron woke to find herself in a cabin. One oil lamp swaying from a hook on the wall provided dim illumination for the wooden hold that was just large enough for two bunks and a medium-sized chest about two feet long. There were no windows, but from the rocking and the sound of lapping water, she guessed she was aboard a ship. It wasn't a bad guess considering her last memory was of being drugged and kidnapped by Persian pirates. In fact, all things considered, her accommodations were quite comfortable. At least she wasn't in chains or locked in the brig. There was even a silver tray with two glasses of warm milk on the floor, along with a brick to keep the arrangement from sliding away.

_Two_ glasses?

She peered over the edge of the bed to find Olli sprawled unconscious on the lower bunk. His hair was ruffled and three slight bruises were forming on his neck, but apart from that he didn't look any worse for wear.

There was no ladder to her upper bunk, and she had no wheelchair even if she got off the bed. It was a clever trick, but she refused to let her captors win. Taking a firm grip on the wooden panel at the head of the bed, she swung herself off and lowered her feet to the floor. When she let go, she tried to keep her weight off her legs and tumbled to the other end of the room. As expected, the door was locked. The chest was not, but it was filled with clothes.

Her options exhausted, Cameron sat with her back against the wall and waited for Olli to wake up. After a while, the motion of the ship began to make her nauseous, and she tried to settle her stomach with some milk, but it had a strange taste and made the situation worse. She felt a light pounding in her head, and then the milk tried to come back up.

Trying not to gag, she crawled to the door and began pounding. "Someone let me out! I'm seasick and it's an emergency!"

Not expecting anyone to answer, she was surprised when the door opened as soon as she finished speaking. Niki threw Cameron's arms over her shoulders and carried her toward the stairs. "This should not have happened," she said apologetically. "I even put herbs in the milk to combat seasickness."

"What'd you put in it?" Cameron asked. Niki's movement on top of the motion of the ship was not helping her situation. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the regularity of each footstep. The interior of the ship was growing hot and stuffy, and she hoped the air would be cooler outside.

"Ginger. Ginger is good for seasickness."

"I hate ginger!" A blast of hot, humid air swept over her as they opened the door and stepped onto the deck, and that was the last straw. She retched and everything she ate in the last twenty-four hours went all over Niki. Milk and hamburgers. Delightful.

When she was done dry-heaving and realized what had happened, she apologized, which was a rather silly thing to do to someone who had just drugged you. It would serve her right if that had been the root cause of her nausea.

"It is all right. The sea takes getting used to. I will go clean up."

"No, wait!" But Niki eased her onto the deck and left her all alone.

Propping herself up against some barrels, she looked around to find a landmark in case they intended to lock her back up for a long time, but water was all around for as far as she could see. She didn't even know how long she'd been unconscious.

"Please don't be alarmed," someone said from right behind her.

Cameron yelped and spun around, losing her grip on the barrels and falling on her bottom. "Sneaking up on me doesn't help!" It was Bousseh and beside her was the barkeeper, whom Cameron remembered was her brother.

"I am Kouros," he said. "I apologize that my sister was rough with you before, but I assure you it was necessary."

"I hardly think kidnapping can ever be considered necessary."

"We were under orders," Bousseh snapped. She did not sound like she was apologizing at all.

Kouros shrugged. "It is true. The arrival of strangers in Singapore attracted the attention of many. However, it was auspicious that we took you and your friend off the island when we did. Strange invaders attacked shortly thereafter, and we saw an explosion rise over the horizon as we sailed away."

Cameron looked in the direction he indicated and noticed a line of yellow that would have been pollution in the present day. Since no city in the eighteenth century generated that much smog, she had to conclude they were not lying, but if the smoke was visible from this distance... "How far out are we?"

"The city is just over the horizon. You have been unconscious for less than two hours."

"Then Singapore's _gone_. An explosion that size would level the island!"

Bousseh nodded.

Cameron felt her heart drop. "What about my friends! Are they safe?"

"We abandoned the tavern the moment we grabbed you. Our orders were to take as many of you as possible while still departing almost immediately."

They had the TARDIS. There was no way the Doctor wouldn't get them off the island, and as soon as he realized she and Olli were missing, he'd come for them.

"Who ordered our capture? Why?"

"You do not need to know!"

Kouros patted his sister's arm. "We cannot give you a name, and I assure you that he is not aboard this vessel, though you need not believe me. However, the hope is that your friends will come rescue you. He wishes to strike a deal with your leader and you are a bargaining chip. Knowing this, you realize you are safe, and we will treat you as honored guests. Do we have your cooperation?"

"As long as we're at sea."

He laughed, a hearty, booming affair. "That is not a problem."

It rather was. "Am I allowed to know where we're going?"

Kouros and Bousseh raised their eyebrows. She didn't think their surprise was false.

"Isn't it obvious?" Bousseh said. "We're going home to Persia."


	26. Chapter 19: Fairy Tails

NOTE: When I was writing this chapter I was using the Mapps for references in regards to the geography of the Disc and Ankh-Morpork, but other than that it's all largely made up based upon fuzzy recollections and impressions. In particular, the layout of the Watch House at Pseudopolis Yard was almost entirely fabrication. I wrote the cells as being in a sort of basement, because that's how I always imagined it (not a dank, dark one, but just a kind of dusty one). A couple weeks after writing that section I was rereading small sections from _Jingo_ and it mentioned, quite clearly, that there were no stairs down to the cells. Oops. After some debate I decided both that I was too lazy to rewrite it, and that I sort of preferred it this way anyway. At any rate, if you're looking for canon in this fic, you're looking in the wrong place.

**Chapter 19**

**Fairy Tails**

Everywhere, words have real power. Perhaps not the cosmic power ascribed to them by dwarfs (although it's difficult to tell), but one word in the right place at the right time can alter how things are perceived; it can open minds, close them, drive them mad, or keep them sane. A single word can start a war, and a single word can end it[*] (Editor's note: yes, that is a freaking footnote on .).

Certain words uttered in the right settings by the right people can summon gods or demons or even Death himself. These words have direct magical power, but it's often the case that the ones that don't are the ones that change the world.

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"Your name is Emerson Keys, isn't it?" said Carrot as he reentered the Commander's office. He offered his hand in greeting.

"That's me, yessir," said the boy, shaking it. Carrot examined the kid quickly, noting first impressions. Small stature, fair-haired--not blonde exactly, but a very light brown, and wavy--and delicate, almost womanly hands.

"I don't think I've met you before," Carrot continued. Angua had remarked earlier that this was strange; Carrot knew everybody.

"New in town, sir," said Emerson.

"Are you sure you're old enough to be a Watchman?" Carrot was skeptical. It was difficult to determine how old the boy was.

"I'm older than I look." Emerson shrugged. "My mama's always told me being a copper is a respectable job, and I've heard the city is the best place to learn how to be one. I completed the training course, sir," he added reproachfully.

_Not ours, though_, thought Carrot. The kid had apparently graduated from some school in Genua. Carrot hadn't even known there was a Watch force in Genua--at least not a real one, because most cities had gangs of bullies masquerading as a police force--but then, it was a long way away, and news traveled slowly.

"When can I see the Commander?" said Emerson.

"There's a lot going on right now," said Carrot. "I told him you wanted to meet with him, but I think he considers you pretty low priority." He watched carefully, but Emerson didn't seem to be offended by that, or indeed show much of a reaction at all.

"Should I wait here then?"

Carrot glanced at the clock on the wall. He didn't have time to sit and wait with the boy, and he doubted Mr. Vimes would appreciate a stranger being left alone in his office. "I don't think so. Come with me, Mr. Keys."

Carrot made sure Emerson was following him, then made his way briskly downstairs to the main floor. He glanced around, scoping out who was around. There weren't many people in the Watch house today--there was so much going on that even with everyone pulling double shifts, there weren't enough Watchmen to go around. He ruled out Constable Visit on the basis that he didn't want to scare the boy off. Sergeant Detritus was there but looked about to leave, and anyway, Detritus wasn't the best candidate for the position of mentor. A door opened to the right and Sergeant Cheery walked in, humming to herself. Carrot's face lit up.

"Cheery!" he said brightly. "We have a new recruit all the way from Genua! He didn't go through the training program here, so show him around, will you? Just take a couple minutes, let him know how we do things, then send him home for the day. He starts tomorrow."

Cheery looked surprised but nodded her agreement and introduced herself to Emerson. Satisfied, Carrot turned.

"I have to go deal with the people in the cells," he told the Watchman at the desk. "If Commander Vimes returns, tell him I'll be back shortly and that I have something to discuss with him."

"Yes, Captain," said the constable. Carrot nodded his acknowledgment, walked over to the steps leading down, and very nearly collided with a wildly unlikely man of the sort for whom there are not enough adjectives in existence. "Interesting" might be a good start, but it was difficult to decide where to go from there.

"Ah," said the man, "I begin to see the obvious flaw in this plan." A petit girl behind him made an exasperated noise.

"You must be the Doctor," said Carrot, smiling and holding out his hand. The Doctor shook it, smiling amiably.

"I am indeed," he said. "And you are?"

"Carrot! They're trying to escape! Stop them!" said Sergeant Colon, who was only now making it to the bottom of the stairwell. People like Fred Colon were not built to be sprinters, even if the sprinting distance was only the length of a room.

"Does it look like we're going anywhere at the moment?" snapped an irate-looking young man who Carrot thought was probably Owen Harper (Carrot always did his homework).

"It's all right, I'll take it from here!" said Carrot, waving to Colon. "You and Nobby can get back to your post."

Colon called back an affirmative and Carrot turned his attention back to the group in front of him, smiling pleasantly.

"I'm Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson. I was actually just coming to tell you all that you're free to go," he said.

"Oh really? That's great! We'll be off now, then!" the Doctor said brightly.

"What?" said Owen. "Are you kidding?"

"Now hold on," said Carrot. "Before you run off, I wanted to ask you; do you have a place to stay? You're clearly new to the city...."

The Doctor frowned, tilted his head, and looked thoughtful. "Doctor," Sarah Jane hissed, "we're not staying!"

"Oh now don't be hasty, Sarah Jane. We'll have to stay one night at least! No, Captain, we have not found a place yet. Any recommendations?"

"I know of a place or two that might have rooms open," said Carrot. He motioned for them to follow and strode back out of the stairwell. The Doctor cheerfully followed and, after some glance-exchanging and shrugging, the rest did as well.

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"We should head back to the Watch House," said Vimes. "Probably Carrot has released your friends by now, and if we're lucky they've stuck around long enough for us to get back."

"They won't have. The Doctor never sticks around," muttered Donna.

"That's a little confusing, isn't it? He's the Doctor, but you're the doctor," said Vimes, eyeing House. Donna eyed both of them.

"Not really," said House. Vimes raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting more, but House, it seemed, was lost in thought. They turned onto yet another long, winding street that looked much the same as all the others--dirty, ancient, and containing a wealth of strange folk milling about. Donna took in everything, trying to memorize the route.

When it became clear that nothing more was forthcoming from House, Vimes didn't bother to push it, seemingly content to let the conversation lapse into silence. Donna hadn't known either of them long at all, but she thought it quite clear that they were made from the same mold. She approved of them both, which was rare, but she couldn't stick around.

The walk back to the Watch House wasn't far and Donna needed an escape route before they got there as she had to keep track of even more people. There were definitely some things she wanted to check out about this place, and if she knew the Doctor--and she thought she did even though his face was different at the moment--they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. She had a good sense of direction and there would be plenty of time to find them again later.

The chance arrived sooner than she expected in the form of a wide-eyed, slightly twitchy looking man in a copper's uniform. Vimes sighed heavily as he saw the man running down the street towards them.

"Sir! I'm so glad I found you! It was only by the grace of the Great God Om--"

Vimes interrupted him. "Yes, Constable Visit, what is it?"

"That's Visit-the-Infidel-with-Explanatory-Pamphlets, sir," said Constable Visit reproachfully.

"Of course it is. What's the matter?"

"There's a commotion down by the Palace, sir! They're sending out the clacks message now! All available officers to report to the Palace!"

"What sort of commotion? Can't Carrot take care of it?"

"Carrot's not around, sir! Busy, sir! They say the Patrician might be in danger!"

"What!" Vimes shouted. "Why didn't you say so?" He took off running in the opposite direction.

"Hey! Wait up! You're not ditching me here!" shouted House as he hobbled off after him with impressive speed. Constable Visit followed after them, and Donna simply stayed there, wondering if they'd notice she wasn't coming. They didn't.

She shrugged her shoulders and surveyed the area. There had to be something more she could do for those poor sick people.... Maybe do a few hours of work in exchange for some food or blankets?

About half a block further up the street was an intersection. She headed towards it, feeling that it was a promising place to begin.

The street she turned onto was lined with peddlers and fruit stands and, feeling pleased with herself, she stopped at the first stall that she liked the look of.

"Excuse me, would you perhaps be willing to--" she began.

"No freebies!" said the frowning man behind the counter.

"I wasn't going to ask for a freebie," said Donna crossly.

"Suuuure, lady. That's what they all say. But lemme tell ya', I can smell a leech when I see one!"

"Look, you terrible little man, that doesn't even make sense! And I wasn't going to ask you to give me anything! How dare you imply such a thing!" She stamped her foot for good measure.

"Just run along before I'm forced to make you go away," the man growled.

Donna was very offended, but she wasn't stupid. She blew a raspberry at the man, turned on her heel, and walked away.

"Honestly," she said to herself. "This place doesn't make an ounce of sense."

She next stopped by a stand apparently selling candles, soap, and other fat-based items, but got a similar reaction. She was stomping away when an older man stopped her and said, "If you don't show them you got coin straight up, they ain't gonna be receptive." He grinned at her, showing a mouth containing only a few brown teeth.

"Uh, thanks," she said, flinching away in disgust. She turned and left without giving him a chance to say anything else. Unfortunately, she wasn't watching where she was going, and she smacked right into a tall woman. "Ex_cuse_ me," she muttered in a tone that wasn't very polite at all.

"Hello Miss, I'm Constable Sally von Humpeding, and I think you'd better come with me," said the tall woman. Donna finally looked up and noted belatedly that the woman was dressed in a copper uniform.

_Christ, are they everywhere or something?_ she thought to her self. Out loud, she said, "What for?"

"I've been watching you, and you've been acting very suspicious. We've had some unpleasant things happening lately and I'm under orders to bring in anyone suspicious for questioning. I do believe you qualify."

"Oh, no, I am _so_ not doing this again!" Donna darted around the woman and took off as fast as she could, thanking her lucky stars she wasn't wearing tall heels.

"Hey! Come back here!" she heard Constable von Humpeding call as she took chase.

Not many people knew this about Donna, but she was actually quite a fast sprinter. She was no good on the long distances, but she had strong legs that allowed her to make a good dash when she had to. The Doctor had been impressed.

Her good initial burst of speed coupled with the element of surprise meant that Donna was able to turn the nearest corner before the Constable ever got moving.

She leapt over a crack in the road and sprinted forward, then turned the next corner she came across onto another bustling street. She chanced a look behind her and nearly ran into a man wheeling a large cart.

"Sorry!" she shouted behind her as she ran on, dodging people.

"Stop!" she heard the Constable shout from behind her and she picked up another burst of speed, turning two more corners at random.

This wasn't going to last. She could feel herself wearing down already. _Oh, buggerall,_ she thought crossly. She looked about furiously for a place to hide, but for a city full of nooks and crannies, everything seemed surprisingly unsuitable.

She was still running, though slowing down drastically, when something down another street caught her eye. Overwhelmingly curious, she stopped and backtracked.

_That's odd_, she thought to herself.

The thing she was looking at was a forest, right in the middle of the city. The city didn't seem to mind. Derelict houses and other structures surrounded it and almost seemed to fade into it, as if they suddenly realized they couldn't exist there after all. The bustling crowd seemed to avoid it naturally, without thinking about it, perhaps without even realizing it. None of them were looking at it--in fact, they were looking everywhere but the forest, and they parted naturally in front of Donna so her line of sight was unobstructed, like the sea before Moses.

The forest itself was confusing to the eyes. It appeared to go on forever even though Donna could see where it ended, only a block or so wide. Fog curled out of it and mixed with the natural damp of the city, but instead of the dark, dirty haze that perpetually hung around Ankh-Morpork, it was a cool, light mist., thick but refreshing. Donna imagined she could feel it even from where she stood more than a block away.

The wood was ancient and gnarly, the branches and roots entwined with each other so thickly that she could not see past even the first line of trees.

As the sounds of the city faded the forest appeared to come closer without ever moving, until the stretch of cobble-stoned street between her and it gave off the impression of being no distance at all. Donna thought she could hear sounds emanating from within the forest, a hypnotically pleasing chime-like sound.

At that moment she wanted nothing more than to go to it.

She took a step. Then a voice rang out, shouting at her. She turned to look, and--

_Shit!_ Corporal von Humpeding was sprinting at her. She turned and ran, but this time she didn't get far; the Corporal had gained too much ground and caught her in a flying tackle.

"Oi!" she shouted. "You don't have to try to kill me!"

"You're under arrest!"

"I bloody well am not!"

"Yes you are, I'm arresting you!"

"Look, I've already been arrested once today and that's quite enough."

"Wait, what?"

Sally stood up and Donna followed, wiping the dirt off herself in the process. "I wasn't doing anything wrong anyhow. I was just seeing if I could work for a couple hours in exchange for some food or something."

"I doubt you'd have much luck with that lot. What's this about already having been arrested? Were you part of that big group they brought in earlier?"

"Yes, and I've been released, so kindly stop chasing me all over the place and manhandling me."

"Ah, my apologies. I'm under orders to bring in anyone acting suspiciously, you know," Sally said.

"You've managed to get me completely lost anyway. Where am I?"

"Quarry Lane. Is there somewhere you need to be? I can take you there. You can call me Sally, by the way."

"Well, I suppose I probably should be getting back to the barracks, see how they're doing," said Donna, tapping her chin.

"The barracks? Why there?"

"I'm helping. I'll explain on the way if you like," said Donna in a very no-nonsense tone, and then turned sharply on her heel.

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Wilson yelped softly when something small and heavy knocked against his leg.

"Watch it, mister!" said a gruff voice from around waist-height. A bewildered downward look identified the source as an absurdly hairy child mostly encased in iron. Wilson adjusted part of this assessment when angry, beady eyes glared up at him from a face that could not possibly belong to even the most unfortunate child. The entire exchange last less than three seconds, but it left Wilson frozen as the--whatever it was--continued on its way.

"What?-- Sorry?" he managed belatedly.

"I think he's well out of hearing range by now," Archimedes commented mildly. "Good try, though."

"_What_ was _that_?" Wilson said in a stage-whisper.

Archimedes shrugged. "The world has seen stranger things."

"Yeah? Not much, I expect."

The other man wasn't paying attention anymore and had instead resumed walking down the busy street. Wilson followed. "Look," he said, pointing upwards at a nearly 90 degree angle. Wilson craned his neck and squinted against the sun, which was hot and high in the sky. "What do you suppose that is?" Archimedes was pointing at one of the most illogical structures Wilson had ever seen. It was ridiculously tall and slightly crooked as well, like it was taunting gravity, daring it to try something.

"Wow," Wilson said. Then, feeling that this was perhaps not sufficient, he added, "Looks more like modern art than a building."

"I wonder what's up there?" said Archimedes.

Wilson squinted up at it critically. "You know, I think I'd rather not find out. I can't even imagine the vertigo I would get from such a position," he said. Then he tripped over something. _If this is another hairy armored midget I am going to-- to-- I'm going to do something really stupid_, he thought as he flung his arms out to stop the onrushing cobblestones. He managed to avoid serious injury , but he banged his elbow pretty badly and by the time he'd regained his bearing a stern-looking woman was standing over him with a raised eyebrow and Archimedes was smiling amicably at her.

He noted that the thing he had tripped over was a very large dog, and this helped to calm him. Dogs were familiar. The dog, which in addition to being very large was also very sleek and dark brown with big, floppy ears. Wilson scrambled to his feet.

"I'm really terribly sorry about that. I'm normally not so spacey, I swear, I've just been a bit distracted lately. Oh, what a cute dog! What's her name?" he said.

"Spot," was all he got in response. He stared.

".... But she doesn't have any." The dog woofed loudly and gruffly.

"Hmmm?"

Wilson gave up and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"We're very sorry for causing you trouble, madam," said Archimedes.

"Genevieve!" called an unconventionally handsome man, tall, thin, and perhaps in his early thirties, as he jogged up to the group. The woman put a hand to her forehead and let out the unmistakable sigh of the long-suffering. Wilson felt something of a kinship.

"Yes, Law?" she said. "Where have you been?"

"I must've gotten lost," said the man who was apparently named Law, switching to a slow gait and adjusting his sunglasses as he approached. "Big city. Who didja find?" He nodded at Wilson and Archimedes.

"Nobody. We had an accident. I were just about to go."

"Ah. Well. Hallo there. My name is Lux Oliver Law, but just Law is fine. My associate here is Genevieve West, and I mention this because I'm sure she hasn't said a thing." The man turned a blinding smile on them and offered a hand.

Wilson shook it. "Err, James Wilson, and this is Archimedes. We're not from around here," he said nervously.

"What a coincidence! Neither are we," said Law.

"And we really should be on our way," cut in Genevieve, who was already walking in the opposite direction.

"Oh, we're terribly sorry, we don't mean to keep you," said Archimedes. The dog barked once, loudly. Wilson jumped.

"Ah well." Law shrugged and turned to follow her. "It was nice to meet you," he called over his shoulder.

Wilson and Archimedes watched them walk away.

"Well," Archimedes said after a moment, "they were interesting folk."

"Err, yeah," said Wilson. "I must be really tired. I can't seem to keep up with current events well enough. I'm sure I came off as an idiot."

"Now now, it's fine I'm sure. Anyway, we should really be finding the others, shouldn't we?"

"Ah. Right. Um. I have no idea where to even start. I doubt I could even find my way back to the TARDIS at this point."

"This city is like a giant maze, isn't it? Fascinating, though! So advanced."

Wilson glanced around at the ramshackle wooden, thatched buildings and the horse-drawn carriages. "Err, right," he said. "Doesn't seem that much different from where you came from to me."

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"Why do you have to stay and chat with every moron who comes into your line of sight?" growled Genevieve as she and Law made their way down a busy street.

"Don't be so uptight, dearie, I was just making conversation. Who knows what I might find out?" said Law off-handedly. He strolled along casually with his hands in his pockets and his sunglasses slipping down his nose, dressed somewhat bizarrely in brightly colored trousers, t-shirt, and vest, with shaggy brown hair that was mostly covered by a forest green beret. Although he was clearly over six feet tall, this was understated by his slightly slouched posture and unassuming, friendly demeanor.

This was all in direct contrast to Genevieve, who cut a severe figure, dressed in greys and dark blues, and also tall but with a ramrod straight back and a no-nonsense expression. She had light curls in her brown, shoulder-length hair, but while on anyone else the style might have worked to soften the overall appearance, on Genevieve it did the opposite. She was beautiful, but the kind of beauty you only dared to admire from a very great distance.

Spot the dog padded along silently next to Genevieve, taking no special notice of her surroundings

"It is not uptight to wish that you would behave for five minutes. We are going to be late now, because of you. This is very important!"

"Hey, hey, you're hardly new anymore. You've been with them for three years now. You don't have to worry so much about making a good impression."

"Not all of us are content with just strolling through life, Law. And not all of us get everything just thrown in our laps. Most of us have to work for it." Genevieve's shoulders were tense and squared. Law sighed.

"Look, babe--"

"Do _not_ ever call me that," Genevieve hissed.

"Whatever, Gen, look--"

"My name is _Genevieve_. Try it."

"Genevieve, that's way too long a name, you definitely need a cute nickname. I quite like Genny myself. I could call you Vee."

"If you ever call me that you won't live to see the next sunrise."

They turned a corner onto a slightly less populated street that was the quickest route into the heart of the Shades.

"You really need to lighten up, _Genevieve_. Acting like you have a stick up your ass isn't going to impress the Boss," Law said and adjusted his sunglasses.

"How I act does not concern you in the slightest. And neither does anything I do."

"C'mon, babe, lighten up!"

"I will _end_ you!"

"If you do that, babe, we'll be even later."

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Vimes knew he shouldn't, but he felt a thrill as he bolted through the streets. The sun was high in the sky, sweat was pouring down the back of his neck, and the chase was on.

Granted, he wasn't chasing a criminal, but running towards the Patrician's Palace trying to beat the clock and get there in enough time that no harm would come to anyone was almost as good.

He was vaguely aware of House limping along somewhere behind him, shouting for him to wait up, but he considered that the man was resourceful enough to find his own way there. If he wasn't, surely he could at least find his way back to the Watch House.

Vimes leapt over a random beggar and wove his way through the busy streets. When he glanced up he could see the Watch's semaphore towers blinking furiously, and the thrill of the chase rushed through him like a breaking wave, refreshing and exhilarating.

The Patrician's Palace wasn't all that far away though, and that was probably a good thing because Vimes wasn't as young as he once was and being Commander meant that he didn't get as much exercise either.

He arrived after only five minutes and a predictable scene of chaos met his eyes, but it didn't look like the dangerous one he'd expected. There were lots of coppers milling about and also lots of civilians because in Ankh-Morpork everyone likes free entertainment, and everything counts as free entertainment if it's on the street. He had expected to see something indicating immediate danger, but since he didn't he stood there and waited for something to make sense.

He didn't have to wait long. Sergeant Angua pushed through the crowd, followed by Sergeant Detritus, who didn't have to push--people will naturally make way for a massive troll coming at them. Detritus was carrying someone of small stature, who looked even smaller against the troll.

"Angua. What's going on?" said Vimes. "This doesn't look like the emergency I was told was happening."

"It's not. People panicked for no reason. This boy here--" she indicated the boy Detritus was carrying, who looked extremely miffed, "--broke into the Palace and was making his way up to the Patrician's office. He wasn't being terribly subtle about it, though. One of the guards on the first level alerted the rest of the Palace, which means he was spotted pretty quickly. He still got pretty far up, but luckily Detritus was just arriving for guard duty and he quite literally ran right into him."

"That's sort of pathetic."

Angua shrugged. Vimes took a closer look at the struggling boy and raised an eyebrow. _Huh_, he through. _He's dressed like a boy, but that is definitely not a boy_. And surely Angua with her sense of smell knew that; nothing much got by her. Which meant that she didn't see any reason to announce that she knew the intruder's real gender.

At that moment House, whom Vimes had all but forgotten about, came huffing and limping up behind him.

"Hah!" he said, after pausing a second to catch his breath. "Is that kid trying to dress like a boy? Because that is definitely a girl."

Vimes sighed. So much for that.

"Yes, thank you Dr. House." He sighed. Then, to Angua and Detritus, he said, "What's _her_ name? Has she said anything?"

"She won't talk to us," said Angua. "But I didn't really expect her to."

"Of course. Well, take _her_ back to the Watch House, will you? Put someone on her more competent than Colon and Nobby. We don't want her escaping. I'll be back there shortly; I just have to speak to Vetinari."

"What about me? Are you just going to leave me here all by my lonesome to get lost in this big, ugly city?" said House.

"You can go with Sergeant Angua and she can hook you back up with your friends, or if you like you can follow me. I'll be going back to the barracks later," said Vimes, not in any mood to deal with inanity.

"Well, as much as I love a beautiful woman, I think I'll come with you. Interesting things seem to follow you, don't they?" House snickered.

"Well don't expect anything interesting to happen soon. You'll be waiting in the lobby while I talk with the Patrician."

----------------------------------------------

Captain Carrot strode along with the Doctor, Sarah Jane, Owen, and Tosh following him. The Doctor was pointing out things and yammering about them with enthusiasm, and Sarah Jane's eyes followed his finger with obvious wonder. Owen just looked grumpy and was resolutely not looking where the Doctor was indicating, and Tosh seemed lost in her own world, staring at the people who passed her.

"There's a very nice place where I stayed when I first came to the city," said Carrot when the Doctor paused for breath. "That's where I'm taking you."

"Oh? What sort of place is it?" said the Doctor brightly.

"Very nice, good people, reasonable rates. It's run by a very friendly lady named Mrs. Rosemary Palm, she heads the Seamstresses Guild."

"Seamstresses, huh?" said the Doctor.

"Okay, really, why are we sticking around?" groused Owen.

"Don't be a party pooper now," said the Doctor. "Have a sense of adventure!"

"I sort of agree with Owen actually," Tosh interjected. "We really need to be off. We have a job to do, and someone's life depends on us."

"It'll be fine, it's all right! End of the line and all that."

"What?"

"We're going there."

"You are making no sense at all," said Owen. He crossed his arms crossly.

"He never makes sense," said Sarah Jane in a stage whisper. "You learn to ignore the filler, and there's a lot of it, because he's always talking."

"Now, now, Sarah, I do not at all!" said the Doctor.

"You do so," she retorted.

"It's just a couple blocks away now," said Carrot.

"Oh good!" said Sarah Jane. "I'm really looking forward to sitting somewhere comfortable for once! And I'm starving."

"For once, you and I are in agreement," said Owen. "Can we stop somewhere quickly and get something to eat?"

"There are a couple of street stands the next block over."

"Great!" said Sarah Jane.

Owen wasn't picky--he chose the first stall they came across and started pulling change out of his pocket and pointing at things.

"How much can I get for, uh, $1.61?" he said. The stall attendant got very excited at the sight of the unfamiliar coinage and started offering up slightly old vegetables.

"How come they don't mind that it's not Ankh-Mopork money?" Sarah Jane asked the Doctor.

The Doctor shrugged, but Carrot replied, "As long as it's metal, most people don't care. I don't really understand it myself."

Owen collected a nice armful of vegetables and some fruit and handed over his coins. The man behind the stall took them quickly, like he was afraid Owen would change his mind, and started looking them over carefully. Owen turned around and shrugged.

"Give me that," said Sarah Jane, and stole an apple.

"Hey! That's mine!"

"You can't possibly eat that much and you know it."

"I could try!"

"Hush, children, don't fight now," said the Doctor.

"I'll take you to Mrs. Palm's place now, if that's all right," said Carrot. "I really have to get back to the Watch House."

"Of course, we don't mean to keep you," said the Doctor, smiling. He flipped his scarf over his shoulder and marched off in a random direction.

"Uh, Doctor, I think it's the other way," Sarah Jane called.

"Quite right, Sarah Jane! Thank you very much!" said the Doctor.

It wasn't until they reached the large building that was apparently Mrs. Palm's place that Owen noticed Tosh was no longer with them and spoke up.

"Oh no!" said Carrot. "I'll put out a notice if you like! I can't believe I got her lost, oh, I feel terrible!"

"Don't worry, Captain," said the Doctor brightly. "She's a bright girl, she can take care of herself!"

----------------------------------------------

_Oh shit_, thought Tosh. _How did I get separated from everyone? I just wanted something to eat!_

She hadn't meant to get lost, she really hadn't. She was sort of intimidated by this place, this strange city with its strange people and strange way of life. It was in many respects similar to Earth, or perhaps fifteenth century Earth, if there was a God and he was a science fiction enthusiast who took everything a lot more literally than would be normal.

Either way, she had only just stopped when she'd been called over by a very insistent sausage salesman, and in the five minutes it took her to convince the man there was no hope of selling her one, the others had wandered far enough that she now had no idea where they were.

There had to be an easy way out of this situation. Maybe if she could find another Watchman, he could take her back to the Watch House, and that would at least be a start.

She started walking at random, taking in the city and almost enjoying herself with the exploration, all the while looking out for anyone in a copper's uniform. Even after over fifteen minutes, however, she still hadn't seen any, and she was beginning to get a little anxious. She had no idea when they were going to be leaving this place and although she knew it was completely irrational, she still had a slight fear of being left behind.

Tosh was crossing a moderately busy intersection when she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned to look, she saw nothing out of the ordinary--or, what passed for ordinary here at any rate.

She dismissed it and kept on, but at the next intersection the same thing happened and this time when she looked she was confronted by an ancient forest growing right in the middle of the city.

She stared at it, baffled. It almost seemed to stare back.

She took a step towards it, and now she thought she could hear something, voices, coming from inside. She took another step.

The closer Tosh got, the less aware she was of her surroundings, and the more focused she became on the forest. The gnarled roots seemed to shift heavily aside to make a path for her as she approached, and the twisted branches reached out to her in a way that seemed almost welcoming. She was overcome by curiosity, and by wonder. What was such a thing doing here, of all places? She had to find out.

Without any real memory of the moving process, she found herself standing right in front of the tree line. Somehow, she couldn't really see into the forest, despite the inviting path that was there for her. Mist and fog rolled out and felt pleasantly cool against her face.

The voices called her. Without thinking, for once without considering the consequences, without being suspicious, she closed her eyes and stepped forward.

When she opened them again, the city was gone. Trees surrounded her on all sides, and the pleasant coolness had already started to become something colder. The forest was dark and its canopy let in no light from the sun above, but there was still a glow that was eerie, but enough to see by. She could not locate the source.

She heard laughter. The voices that had drawn her near were laughing almost merrily, but there was an undertone now that she couldn't identify but didn't quite like.

Unsure what to do, she took another step forward, looking around now for a way out. She decided she didn't like this place after all, and wondered what had possibly possessed her to waltz so casually into a strange forest in the middle of a city where it clearly did not belong.

A few more steps and suddenly the forest opened up and she was standing in a clearing. All around her were dancing lights and voices, and mixed in with the soft laughter was singing.

_Follow me in the twilight of this slow summer night, for a while._

The song was soft, slow, melancholy, and the slightly dazed feeling she'd felt entering the forest was starting to come back.

_Let me tell you a tale that's never before now been told._

The lights drew closer and she saw they were some sort of lantern, and each was held by a smallish flying creature, bobbing back and forth on the light breeze. The voices came from them.

_I can take you back to a time before those memories. Only you have the power to decide._

The song ended there, but the laughter did not. Tosh found herself nodding, although she wasn't sure what she was agreeing to.

One of the creatures, slightly larger than the rest, floated forward. It, like the others, was humanoid, but had a strangely elongated head, dark, large, opalescent eyes, and a long torso. Its arms were shorter than a proportionate human's would be, but the legs were long and slender and accented by a long, wispy tail that curled and twitched and ended in a long tuft of fur. Everything about it was longer, more graceful, than a human, and its wings were nearly transparent. They seemed to have their own shine, as well, like their skin produced a soft glow naturally. _We are the iele_, it whispered.

"Yes?" was all she could manage. She felt dizzy. The moistness of the air and the soothing sound of the laughter were hypnotizing.

_We would like you to come with us. We can show you many things_, said the creature. Its tail twitched forward, then glided back.

"Yes," she gasped.

_We would be very pleased to help you. I am Vie, and I am the ruler of this forest, which is called Baia._

"Yes," she said again, then passed out.

----------------------------------------------

Alice the cat was stealthily following Carrot and the rest of the group, and so she was the only one who noticed Tosh, who had been trailing slightly behind the rest in order to take in the sights, getting waylaid by one of the only people she never accepted food from. In fact, she always stayed well clear of this particular sausage salesman. A cat's sense of smell is well-developed, and in this particular case that was not an advantage. She could smell all the bizarre and often unidentifiable ingredients that went into those sausages.

Tosh wisely refused the man's offer of a sausage in a bun for half off, but it took her several minutes to shake off the insistent man. Alice debated letting her go and following Carrot, who was much more likely to produce treats, but in the end curiosity won out and she stayed and waited for Tosh.

Because of this, Alice was the only one who witnessed Tosh entering the giant and clearly magical forest, and she was the only one who followed.

----------------------------------------------

"Look, I need to know where the rest of my group is," said Donna as she and Sally walked along together.

"No worries, I think Captain Carrot was supposed to deal with them. I can send a clacks down to the Watch House, and if they're still there they'll get it directly. Otherwise someone at the House can deliver the message."

"Clacks?"

"See those big flashing towers on top of some of the buildings? The ones with the shutters?" Sally pointed up to the rooftop of the Thieves Guild, where there was a small clacks tower.

"Yeah," Donna nodded.

"They're used to send messages really quickly! They're fairly new technology."

"Ah," said Donna, eyeing them dubiously.

"We--the Watch, that is--have our own private towers within the city. So do most of the larger guilds," said Sally. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask you; what made you stop like that, back there? When I was chasing you. You looked like you'd seen a ghost."

"Oh, yeah, that was really weird. Is there, er, is there a forest in the middle of the city?"

"_What_?" Sally laughed. "No! It would hardly fit. This city isn't all that big actually, it's just very densely populated."

"Well, that's what I saw. A great bleeding forest sitting cool as you please between two blocks. And don't tell me I'm crazy, because I know I'm not."

Sally stared.

"Um," she said. "Hang on...."

"It was all misty and there were voices or something coming from it. Totally weird."

"Hang on, you _saw_ the Laughing Forest?"

"I suppose it could have been laughter, yeah."

"But that's a myth! It's not even a common one!"

"Well, what I saw wasn't a myth, and I can guarantee you I don't know any of your myths. I'm not from around here."

"It's pretty vague. It's a really old story, so people just kind of make up the details, but basically it says that there's a mysterious force residing in Ankh-Morpork that doesn't like all the crowds and people and noise. Occasionally it rises up and sort of... steals people."

Donna raised an eyebrow. "The mystical force steals people?"

"Well, people disappear and never are seen again, you know, that sort of thing. They say it appears in the form of an enchanting forest that draws people in. And they say there's always the sound of laughter emanating from it, which is why it's called the Laughing Forest." Sally shivered a little.

"If they're never seen again, how does anyone know these things?"

"That is the question, isn't it? Everyone thinks of that, no one has really looked into it. I mean, it's just a myth."

"Well, I saw it, and I'm still here."

"Uh huh."

Donna got the feeling Sally didn't quite believe her. She felt she ought to be indignant, but she couldn't bring herself to really care.

_Laughing Forest, huh._

As they walked, the barracks of the sick loomed up before them.

*Though more usually it's a great many words, often shouted, occasionally over great distances, and almost always over great periods of time, and even then it's rarely conclusive.


	27. Info Post: The German Families

**_Note: This is obviously not an actual chapter. It is merely a sort of list giving a little bit of information about the multitude of original characters that appear for Susan, Adric, and Ten to interact with. For sheer number alone they can be confusing to keep track of, but add to that the time lapse between chapters and the fact that the chapters alternate between storylines, and it's probably near impossible. To assist, this list has been posted on our livejournal for months now, but it only just occurred to us that it might be a good idea to put it here too. _**

**_I am retroactively moving it to right before the first chapter where they appear, and readers are welcome to skip it or read it, but everyone will know it's here in case it becomes necessary. (:_**

_In the Susan and Adric chapters, our heroes find themselves in the middle of a feud between two German families in the eighteenth century (oh gee, what else in the fic is set in the eighteenth century?). In order to clarify (or try, anyway) this sudden plague (upon both houses) of original characters, we've created a family tree of sorts for both families. And yes, astute readers will notice that there are both Schneiders and Lahnsteins in _Verbotene Liebe_. These families are intended as their ancestors of sorts, though their actual relation is up in the air._

_Brackets {} around a name indicate a character is deceased (or believed deceased) prior to the start of the fic. Ages in parentheses (##) are ages from a character's birth date, even if the character is dead, and should not be assumed to be age at death for dead characters._

_Those who died during or shortly after childbirth are not listed and can be assumed to account for age gaps between siblings of a generation if the reader so desires. Their (former) existence is up in the air unless they're explicitly named or indicated not to exist in the fic._

**_The Schneiders_**

Descended from merchants several centuries ago, the Schneiders are newly made aristocrats in the eyes of the Lahnsteins. They are also more familial, having less land and wealth to distribute, which is why the parents of the wives live in the castle while the same is not true of the Lahnsteins.

_The Elders_

**{FRIEDRICH SCHNEIDER}** (74) - Died choking on a chicken bone at dinner.

_married to_ **JULIA PREUS** (69) - Matriarch of the family but going senile.

_his siblings:_

     **VERNER** (71) - Living in Prussia.

     **SASCHA** (65) - Living in Sweden.

**IMRE SCHMUCK** (70) - Moved into the castle with his daughter, Rosa.

_married to_ **{FRANZISKA EHLERS}** (71) - Died of a heart attack half an hour after Friedrich's death. Famous last words right before she collapsed: "Goodness, I think I'm dead."

     _her brother_, **VIKTOR** (68) - Moved into the castle with Imre and Franziska at Imre's behest.

_The Parents_

**RAOUL SCHNEIDER** (45) - Eldest son of Friedrich and Julia. Head of the family.

_married to_ **ROSA SCHMUCK** (42) - Eldest daughter of Imre and Franziska.

     _her sisters:_

     **WILHELMINA** (44)

     **ALOISIA** (41)

     _her brother_, **CONRAD** (40) - Inherited her parents' estate. Doesn't live in the castle.

_his siblings_

**TANJA** (46) - Best friend of Rosa, introduced Rosa and Raoul.

     _married to_ **{EBERHARD ROTH}** - Drowned in a fishing accident.

**OTTO** (43) - Inventor. Born with a lame leg.

**ULRIKA** (41) - A witch, maybe.

_The Children_

**HUEY** (23) - Raoul's heir. A proper gentleman who challenges Lahnsteins to duels and otherwise uses his time trampling around in the forest killing things to take home to study in his lab.

**ULA** (21) - A proper lady who nevertheless doesn't want to get married and is given to flights of fancy.

**GAUTHIER** (20) - Traumatized by Ula in his childhood, his only goal in life is to be as improper as possible.

**HILDEGARD** (18) - One of identical twins, not so much a proper lady as just a woman who likes pink frilly things.

**KARIN** (18) - Hildegard's identical twin, except she only likes pink frills as decorations to hide the fact that she's carrying around a shotgun designed to look like an umbrella.

**LOUIE** (9) - The resident brat.

**_The Lahnsteins_**

Ancient nobility, so everyone who's not a Lahnstein might as well be peasantry in their eyes. All Lahnstein males (and some females) have been sent abroad to prestigious universities to study.

_The Elders_

**WALDO VON LAHNSTEIN** (77) - Extremely conservative family patriarch whose authority has nevertheless been subverted by his wife in favor of his son. Ill with the gout and unable to move much.

_married to_ **ADALIE HEINZE** (68) - We were going to name her Theresa but thought that might be a bit much.

     _her idiot brother_, **JAKOB** (65)

_his siblings:_

**{BERNARD}** (76) - The latest casualty of the Lahnstein-Schneider feud. Killed in a duel 22 years ago against Friedrich.

**ANNEGRET** (74) - A genius with plants and herbs.

     _her maid_, amongst other things, **LYSANNE BAMBERG** (20)

_The Parents_

**ABELERD VON LAHNSTEIN** (52) - Head of the household in practice, though the title still belongs to his father, Waldo. Is a little oppressed by his parents.

_married to_ **SCHMETTERLING HANSEN** (44) - Knows her husband is a bit of a wuss so decided it couldn't hurt if she ordered him around too.

_his siblings:_

**ADOLFA WIENER** (54) - Abelerd's elder sister, lives in Saxony with her husband.

     _married to_ **BERNARD WIENER** (58)

**ADALIE** (49) - Abelerd's younger sister, an old maid.

**EDMUND** (47) - Lives in a castle on the adjacent property.

     _married to_ **DOROTHEA LEUPOLD** (47)

_The Children_

**RAINART** (26) - An academic, in contact with numerous liberal activists working for the reunification of Germany. Due to his excessive interest in politics and other things practical, he has been passed over as Abelerd's heir.

**EDWYNNA** (25) - Married a cowherder at 16 and subsequently got disowned but still lives on the property.

     _married to_ **SIEGBERT NEUFELD**

**BARON** (23) - Abelerd's heir now that Rainart has been set aside as a troublemaker with "ideas." Excellent marksman who loves hunting.

**ELISE** (20) - After Edwynna proved a disappointment, Schmetterling forced Abelerd to send Elise to a university in Britain to get an education, just like Rainart and Baron. Unfortunately, Edwynna was the smarter sister, and Elise dropped out, returning not the slightest bit smarter but with an intense passion for afternoon tea.


	28. Chapter 20: Interview with a Vampire

**Chapter 20**

**Interview with a Vampire**

Susan and Adric rematerialized amidst Death's field of golden wheat. There was now a clearing in the middle of all the gently waving stalks, and Susan looked down to see trampled plants underfoot. _Uh oh,_ she thought to herself, wondering what new incursion had caused the damage before remembering that what she really should do was wait and feel sorry for it once Death found out about the situation.

BACK SO SOON? her grandfather's voice echoed. She jumped, realizing that there was more to the clearing behind her. Turning around, she saw a group of figures dressed in tight-fitting black-and-white-striped outfits doing yoga. They had on black silk top hats with a rose sticking out the side. Her first thought had been, _Mimes! Get the poker!_ but they lacked the characteristic powdered make-up. Besides, Death--who remained in his usual robes--was imitating their movements with astonishing grace for a skeleton.

"What's going on?" she asked.

THIS IS SURPRISINGLY RELAXING. MY ONLY PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE WITH YOGA WAS THAT TIME I PICKED UP THE POOR FELLOW WITH THE BROKEN BACK. I HAD THOUGHT IT WAS A FORM OF TORTURE.

"Yes, grandfather, but why are they _here_?"

The group got onto their backs and flipped into the plow posture. Adric shuffled aside to avoid getting kicked. Susan decided to get to the point; past experience told her that there wasn't much she could do about Death's quirks. "We need the time die."

THAT WOULD BE DANGEROUS.

"We found the location of a pivotal event, but we were too late to see what happened. We need to go to the right time to find out what threat we face."

Death considered for only a moment. After all, given the enormity of the situation, he didn't have much of a choice. He reached into his robes and dropped the other sphere into her palm.

"Thank you."

GOOD LUCK.

----------------------------------------------

Ula Schneider skipped along the bank of the Rhine, singing a nursery song about pillaging mermaids. For those disposed to a more vivid imagination, one should clarify that the song is not about mermaids getting pillaged since mermaids rarely have much of value on their persons and, additionally, such acts are illegal (except in the Netherlands and a few other less scrupulous parts of the world) and frowned upon in higher society. Rather, the song was about mermaids waylaying unwary travelers of the Rhine, beating them senseless, and stealing their gold in hopes of attracting dwarves. The dwarves then pillaged the mermaids, but that part isn't in the song.

As a young adult, Ula knew she shouldn't be given to fancies, but she'd always loved the tale of Lorelei the mermaid, partly because she had a rock named after her and usually only men got to have pieces of scenery named after them, and partly because she got a lot of people dead in really gruesome ways. It was too bad she only got to be awesome after killing herself over a man, but that couldn't be helped.

When she was six and didn't know any better, she tried to emulate her hero by telling her mother she was going to jump off a cliff because she was hopelessly in love with her younger brother. Her mother fainted, and when she woke, pretended the incident had never happened, which meant that Ula must have done something very bad. Being the curious girl that she was, she asked her father which part of the story had offended. Her father was named Raoul, which meant he had to be awesome, so he explained that it was considered improper to be in love with a family member closer than a cousin. It was quite all right for young women to jump off cliffs, but she shouldn't because all the time her parents had spent educating her would go to waste.

Satisfied, she took the extra initiative of informing her brother that she didn't love him, and he wasn't allowed to love her either. It was improper. She didn't know that Gauthier ran to his room afterwards, cried all night, and vowed to fight against all that was good and proper for the rest of his life. She just assumed her parents had saved him from a wolf clan when he was little and thus he wasn't actually born an aristocrat and couldn't be blamed for always doing the improper thing. Every time he used the wrong spoon at dinner or spent leisure time with the servants, she ignored the mistake and chalked it up to inferior blood.

Ula Schneider skipped because the action came naturally to children but was hopelessly complicated for adults to recall. Skipping was like the anti-riding-of-a-bicycle (Ula was fond of the practice of using words-that-combine-to-describe-something-else-that-no-one-bothered-to-make-up-a-new-Noun-for). Today, she wanted to remember being a child again, because today wasn't a happy day. Today was the appointed day for Gauthier and Baron von Lahnstein to duel because Baron had spotted Gauthier romping naked through the hills with a sheep and taken offense. Of course, Gauthier had been deep on Schneider land at the time, so Baron must have trespassed, so Huey Schneider, her older brother, challenged Baron to a duel to defend the family's pride. Annoyed that Huey would impinge upon Baron's honor, Baron's father, Abelerd von Lahnstein, then challenged Huey to a duel. Of course, that meant Raoul Schneider challenged Abelerd, leading to Abelerd's father, Waldo, challenging Raoul. That was totally improper because Waldo was too old to fight, so Rosa Schneider and Schmetterling von Lahnstein had spent an afternoon slapping each other before both going home and reporting that the other family had pulled out of that duel because they were cowards.

Thankfully, the chain reaction had stopped there because Ula's grandfather was five years dead, and corpses hadn't found a way to express their desire for a duel yet. Nevertheless, there might be a lot more corpses soon because the Schneiders and Lahnsteins had been feuding for generations, and while the worst that came out of their duels was usually an eye poked out or a bird in the wrong place at the wrong time getting shot, no one had actually died in twenty-two years, which meant an epic-tragedy-of-many-deaths-and-misunderstandings was long overdue.

There was also the fact that duels were considered a proper thing to do, which meant Gauthier would either not show up at the appointed time, leading to more duels, or he'd bring that awful weapon he was working on which he'd--being a man--tried to name after himself. A Gatling gun, he called it, or something like that.

On second thought, she really shouldn't be skipping along the Rhine. She was conducting an illicit love affair with Baron, and that'd be a lot harder to do if he was riddled with bullets.

Ula Schneider ran along the Rhine in the opposite direction. It took her just as long to return to the castle as it had taken her to skip away, because real ladies don't run any faster than they can skip.

Gauthier was in his room with the standard one-shot pistol when Ula walked in. "You're using _those_?"

Gauthier smiled. "At this point, everyone expects me to do something improper, but the most improper thing of all is to defy expectations. Proper hates surprises. So, of course, I will duel like a normal gentleman."

"You could not show up."

"That would be even more predictable than the Gatling."

A new scenario presented itself, one which Ula had not even considered. Terrifyingly unexpected, it was an unpleasant shock, and Ula finally understood why proper society hated surprises. Her brain tried to take in the new factors and figure out a course of action, but Gauthier was ready for the duel, and the appointed time was less than fifteen minutes away, just long enough to walk to the border between their lands. She had no time to think, which meant there was only one possible course of action.

"Oh Gauthier, I feel ill!" she cried and fainted.

When she woke, she realized her mistake. Rather than call for help, Gauthier must have thrown her in a wheelbarrow and carted her to the dueling grounds. This would have been a wild and complicated deduction if she'd woken on a lawn chair under an umbrella in the viewing area of the dueling grounds, and she thought this scenario would have been vastly preferable. Instead, she was jostling up and down in a wheelbarrow on the path to the dueling grounds, and her surroundings told her they had less than two minutes of travel remaining.

"Let me out!" she screamed. "This is indecent. No one carts an unconscious lady around!"

"I do," Gauthier said.

"I'd think that even if you have no sense of decency for yourself, you'd care about your sister enough to keep her out of ill repute!"

At that moment, something strange enough to distract even Ula occurred. There was a light pop and sizzling sound, accompanied by a flash of blue light and the smell of burnt toast. Right before their eyes, two figures appeared out of thin air, right in the middle of the path ahead. Gauthier's mouth dropped open, while Ula scrambled out of the wheelbarrow to appear presentable. It was all for her own benefit, no doubt, because these two new arrivals would not appreciate her sense of propriety. After all, what sort of decent person just appears out of nowhere on a deserted forest road? Only highwaymen, that was who, and... "Oh my goodness, they're going to rob us!" Ula screamed.

Gauthier kicked the back of her leg. "Shut up."

The two strangers were absorbed in an argument in some language she'd never heard before, oblivious to the presence of Ula and her brother. One was a tall woman all in black, regal enough to be nobility except for a head of white hair that was scandalously wild, seeming to move of its own accord and containing a single streak of black through it. The other was a boy in yellow and green nightclothes, which wasn't presentable either. The woman held out a silver tray and kept dropping two marbles on it, her voice getting higher and higher every time she let them roll.

"I think they're crazy," Ula whispered, backing up to put Gauthier between her and the newcomers.

"Don't be silly. They must be sorcerers to appear out of nowhere!"

"Maybe you were busy hauling your sister around in a wheelbarrow and didn't notice their arrival!"

Then, the woman picked up the two spheres, carefully rotated them halfway around, and set them on the tray. The two blinked out of existence...

...and reappeared in the wheelbarrow, which promptly overbalanced and sent them sprawling into the dirt. Ula let out a little shriek as dust got on her dress, and she ran to the edge of the road. Gauthier, on the other hand, stepped forward and offered the woman a hand. How totally stupid and characteristic of him.

The woman accepted his help but forgot about him once she was on her feet. Turning to the boy, she said something and then stuffed the tray and marbles into a bag of some sort. At that point, the boy pointed at Gauthier and, once she nodded, extended a hand to him.

"Hi, my name's Adric," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Adric. Do you have a family name?"

"No, but we're kind of lost."

"I guessed that with the..." Gauthier thought a moment, then made an expansive gesture with his arms, "_poof_ and all."

"Oh, you're not going to pretend that didn't happen?"

"Should I? Why?"

"Because it's improper!" Ula felt this was an appropriate time to jump into the conversation as the moment to flee had passed.

The woman jabbered something. Adric replied in the same language, and she said something else. "Susan--this is Susan, by the way--told me that's the more common reaction."

Ula Schneider was common? She would have to teach that boy a lesson about aristocracy. Why, this was the eighteenth century of our Lord, and no one was savage enough to confuse nobility with peasantry anymore.

"Well, my sister can be rather common at times." Gauthier sounded _apologetic_. She stalked forward, ready to give him a good rap on the head, when a thought occurred to her.

"You said you were lost. Are you not able to, mmm..." For lack of a better description, she copied Gauthier's gesture, "Are you not able to poof away?"

"No, we're apparently not."

"I think I can help you." The look on Gauthier's face alone was worth it, but shocking Gauthier was not her priority at the moment. "And how rude of me not to introduce myself. My name is Ula Schneider. You can see the castle I live in once we're out of the woods. This here is my brother, Gauthier."

"Nice to meet you." Adric looked just as confused as her brother, while Susan was eyeing Ula suspiciously. Women did always catch on faster than men.

"You need a place to stay."

"Yes..."

"Fantastic! You and Susan will be distant cousins who are visiting from Bavaria--that's to cover up any problems with manners you might have--because your parents died and your uncles cheated you out of your inheritance. You found out about us and came for help. Susan is your older sister who's not right in the head, and you're caring for her. On your way here, you got robbed by highwaymen, which is why you have no wagon or luggage and are wearing your nightclothes."

"There's nothing wrong with Susan!"

"Of course there isn't, dear," Ula said, her own story already solidifying into fact in her own head. "Does she speak any German?"

"Oh." Adric glanced at Susan. "No."

"Well that is no fault of yours. You do try so hard to take excellent care of her, and we have servants who can see to her every need. Now if you don't mind, we have a duel to interrupt."

"Interrupt?" Gauthier said. "It hasn't started yet. And..."

"There are clear rules in the Schneider-Lahnstein code duello that require the families to forgive all offenses in the event of the arrival of new family members or distant relations in order to celebrate the enlargement of our feud."

"So all the duels get cancelled?"

"Exactly!" Ula smiled primly.

Gauthier took in her look of satisfaction and Adric's look of confusion and shrugged. "I suppose that'll piss off everyone involved. Good by me. Come along, cousin Adric, cousin Susan. Welcome to the family."

----------------------------------------------

The TARDIS drifted in the time vortex. Spinning slowly amidst the swirls of red and blue, it waited on silent running, sensors listening for the slightest sign of danger. Deep in its heart, memories of the Time War pulsed like a suppressed infection biding its time in the blood.

_Run, flee, protect the Doctor..._ The TARDIS _remembered_, and something terrible had shown its face in Singapore. Darkness drawing closer, madness infecting everyone around.

The time vortex wasn't safe either. Daleks knew how to hijack a TARDIS even in the time vortex, and they weren't the only ones, but for now, there was no sign of pursuit. For now, the TARDIS could wait and hope the Doctor got better. Once the Doctor was awake, he'd know what to do, and for now... _hide_.

----------------------------------------------

Susan was upset but not for the reasons Adric had expected. Jamie would have been livid if Adric had tried to claim he was "not right in the head" but Susan had taken it in stride, saying that the language sounded like a dialect from Überwald but wasn't similar enough for her to pick up immediately. Besides, people talked more freely around someone they thought was a fool, so the role suited her fine. On the other hand, she was still ranting about the fact that she had tried to cheat the dice and failed.

"How on earth is it logical to put two nearly identical coordinates on opposite sides of each other?" she demanded. "It isn't right!"

"First, with an infinite number of points, there's no--pardon the pun--point in trying to guess at the system in which the coordinates are organized, if there even is one," Adric explained. "Second, a progressive system is not necessarily the best way to organize a set of coordinates, especially on a sphere, because you'll have discontinuities unless you assume space curves back around on itself, which even if it does, time probably does not."

"That isn't remotely sensible! Common sense dictates that if you want to cheat at dice, that's how you do it!"

"Common sense applies to common mortals. Those dice belong to Death."

Susan continued to look disgruntled, which was a problem because her hair was on the verge of irrevocably knotting itself.

"Look, we're not in the clear yet, so can you be quiet and let me concentrate?"

Susan was silently disgruntled, which Adric supposed would have to do. Ula and Gauthier had led them out of the forest about half an hour ago onto a flat, cleanly cut field of grass where an assortment of fancily dressed aristocrats awaited them. They had set up two rows of gleaming white lawn chairs on the two longer sides of the dueling grounds, complete with massive umbrella sunshades and tables set with refreshments. Servants bustled around with trays of drinks and little snacks while also tidying the grounds and trimming the trees that were growing too close. On the field itself, each pace was chalked out and numbered, and miniature blue cones indicated boundaries that the opponents couldn't cross.

For some reason, Ula skipped her way across the last few meters of forest before shouting breathily, "Stop the duel! The duel must stop!" and fainting. Adric found this melodramatic but Susan explained that in high society, it was the proper thing to do.

Everything that followed was a blur as the servants brought an assortment of smelling salts over while the rest of the people started speaking in stern tones at each other, though none of them reached the point of yelling. Nevertheless, with over twenty people present, the noise rose to a level where no one could hear what anyone else was saying, but they kept talking anyway.

Some time in the midst of all this, Gauthier managed to get Ula's absurd story across, and from the resulting responses ("They can't be Schneiders! They don't have black hair!" "But he has Friedrich's chin!" "She looks exactly like Sascha--the vacant eyes and terrible hair!" and other sentences ending with an exclamation mark) few were questioning their claim to be Schneiders. Rather, they were debating whether to press on with the duels anyway.

Ula had woken up the moment a servant approached, later confiding to Adric that she hated smelling salts. The three of them were now lounging in lawn chairs holding glasses of iced water, and from Ula's satisfied look, she knew the families would set aside the duels. It was _tradition_. However, none of his observations answered the question of why he and Susan were here. The dice had been adamant about them staying, so Susan couldn't teleport them back to Discworld. Or rather, she _could_, but the next time they rolled the dice, they'd be right back here again. Yet Ula had given him the date, and they were over a hundred and fifty years too early and on the wrong continent for whatever had happened in Washington DC, though at least they were on the right planet.

The hubbub was dying down, so Adric put his thoughts aside and watched. The Lahnsteins had withdrawn to their side of the field, save for one. "Baron von Lahnstein," Ula named him with a quaver in her voice.

"This is a travesty!" Baron declared. Adric got from him the impression of a well-fed wolf, proud and threatening, killing not because he was driven to it but because he wanted to hunt. He stood a hand taller than most of the men present and was more muscular than an aristocrat probably ought to be, though he remained lean and moved with a grace that suggested he had acquired his strength from practical use rather than for vanity. His looks continued to differentiate him from his family in that his hair was dark brown, rolling and luxuriant as a mane, while the rest of the Lahnsteins were so stubbornly blonde they almost reached platinum. "What would our ancestors think, who laid down their lives for our honor? Would you disgrace the memory of your uncle, father? He died fighting a Schneider, and you didn't even have the guts to avenge him, letting a chicken do your duty for you!"

"A chicken?" Adric looked at Ula for help. Now was not the time for the TARDIS translation to start malfunctioning.

Ula nodded. "Yeah, you know, _bawk-bawk_, lays eggs, runs around with its head cut off. Grandfather Friedrich choked on a chicken bone at dinner."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be, that was five years ago. Mourning periods only extend one year past burial, and that's if you _really_ liked the person. I put off the black for grandmother Franziska only two months after she died because she smelled like paprika and I hate paprika, not that it really helped, because there was more black underneath for mourning Friedrich-- they died the same night--but still, it was a lot cooler in the summertime not having to wear two layers of black."

"Wouldn't it make more sense just to wear one black outfit the whole time for both people?"

"You're from Bavaria, dear, you wouldn't understand."

Baron's father took a step forward and coughed politely into his fist. He was bulky, wrapped tightly in his suit like a water balloon about to pop. His other hand leaned against a cane, though given how thin it was, the support it offered was more mental than physical. Indeed, Baron's father's entire appearance conveyed the sense of one long oppressed, his hair prematurely grey with only faint streaks of brown above the ears, and as soon as he was about to speak, a severe-looking woman pulled him back into the line and took his place.

"You speak inappropriately, Baron, though I trust your father forgives you in light of the zeal with which you pursue our cause. Bernard, God rest his soul, died in a _duel_ against Friedrich. We do not avenge deaths in the field of honor or risk sullying the memory of those who remembered that we are _civilized_ people."

"Nevertheless, this was a multi-duel! The code duello does not specifically address our situation!"

"What are you suggesting, Baron?" one of the Schneiders asked ("My father, Raoul," Ula commented). "Your father has already given up his duel with my son, and as a result, I renounce my challenge as well."

Baron inclined his head in a bow to Raoul. "And as the original challenger, I forgive Gauthier his offenses to me in honor of Adric and Susan. But Huey has not relinquished his claim on me and is not required to do so, considering the new relations are an addition to his family and not mine."

"Indeed!" cried a young man whom Ula identified as Huey. If Baron was a wolf, Huey was one too, but more the sort that climbed onto hills and howled at the moon than the type that ate all your sheep. He was slimmer than Baron, and his features were softer, but rather than make him seem less dangerous, the comparison just made him appear more cunning, his threats concealed beneath the surface. In keeping with that impression, most of his face was hidden by a layer of coal-black stubble which served to offset and sharpen his emerald eyes, currently shooting daggers at Baron. "I do _not_ forgive him the offense of trespassing!"

"I wish to clear myself of his false charges and teach this Schneider a lesson he won't forget! I choose swords!"

With a wail, Ula leapt to her feet. "You forget yourselves! Brother, aren't you concerned for Susan? She is frail and a duel could send her into fits." She jabbed Adric's shin with her foot. "Can you set her off?" she whispered.

Adric rolled his eyes. "Susan, she wants you to flail around and moan so everyone will force those two idiots to stop fighting."

"Could I just slap them?"

"I don't think that would be appropriate."

"Oh fine, sister," Huey said. "Just this once I'll go easy on the Lahnstein dog. I shall set the combat rules as first blood."

Ula snatched Adric's glass of water from his hand, walked across the field, and threw the contents into her brother's face. For good measure, she dropped the single remaining ice cube into Baron's hair, causing him to shake it off like a wet dog. "You are both fools with heads full of steam. Just once, you men could do something nice for a lady and allow her to start preparing the welcome feast for our cousins rather than waste time watching you play with your swords."

Huey and Baron stared at her as though they couldn't believe their eyes. She looked down, hoping she'd grown a tail and turned into a mermaid like Lorelei, but then Baron unsheathed his sword and declared, "First blood it is! But for the sake of your sister, we'll hurry up. I declare double-time!"

Ula stomped back and dropped onto her lawn chair with arms crossed. "That's the trouble with brothers and lovers," she muttered. "They take you for granted."

"See, I don't understand what you like about them," Gauthier said. "That's what proper gets you: _nothing_."

"That's not proper! I don't understand what's gotten into them. They almost used to get along. Then Huey disappears for a day, comes back with a broken arm and his face all bruised, and they're both challenging people to duels every chance they get."

"I'd be angry if Baron beat me up in the forest too. But I wouldn't get all proper and drag everyone else into my problems. I'd just shoot him in his sleep. I imagine it _should_ be scandalous to follow up by dragging his body around the castle with a carriage, but since Achilles did that, everyone thinks it's all right. Bloody Greeks."

"I know what'll make Ula happy! Hey, Ula!" Huey called. The Schneiders were clearing the field and settling into their chairs in preparation for the duel. "You want to honor our cousins, right? I choose Adric as mediator!"

"_What_?" Adric sat up. Mediating between two men with swords did not sound good at all.

Ula put a hand on his arm. "Don't worry, it's easy. You just have to give the countdown, call foul if either of them steps off the dueling ground, and declare a winner once first blood is shed."

"Can I call a winner before then?"

"Not unless you want the winner to duel you."

"The winner?"

"Well, you falsely gave him the win. It looks like you think he's too weak to win for himself."

"Um..."

"Don't worry, first blood means they're aiming to cut each other, usually across the arm. And they're both excellent with the blade, so there won't be any body parts flying or gooey things spilling out of them."

"Sounds fantastic."

"It would be if they weren't both _idiots_."

Baron and Huey stood facing each other, blades drawn in typical fencing fashion. "You may proceed, Adric," Baron announced. "A count of ten is standard here."

"Ok. Er, ten, nine, eight..."

Huey sighed. "No, no, no. Baron declared double-time. That means you have to count twice as fast."

"Sevensixfive--"

"No, start over!" Baron snapped. "Who speeds up in the middle of a count?"

"Tennineeightseven--"

"Too fast!" Baron's father yelled from across the field. "Hee hee, this is fun."

Adric felt ready to challenge someone to a duel himself. "Ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-four-three-two-one-go!" He poked Ula. "I thought double-time was supposed to make the duel end faster."

"It does if the mediator knows what he's doing."

Huey and Baron lunged at each other, swords moving so quickly they were nothing more than silver blurs. _Clink-clink-clink_, the blades met and parted in rapid succession, the opponents circling as they fought. Then all of a sudden, Huey fell with a yelp, his foot arcing into the air as he landed on his back. The sun glinted off a single ice cube as it soared up and away. Huey's hand hit the earth and lost its grip on his sword, letting it fly off in the opposite direction, landing beyond the nearest blue marker.

"Ula!" Huey screamed. "DAMN YOU!" But he had nothing to worry about. Baron just stood over him, looking confused and not particularly inclined to take his victory. Then he took a step forward and also slipped.

"Aaarrgh!" he cried, the sword leaving his hand before he'd even finished falling. It spun several times before cutting through an umbrella and landing point down a centimeter from the groin of an elderly woman on the Lahnstein side.

She stared at the blade, swinging back and forth like a pendulum from the spot where it'd lodged into the ground. Putting a hand over her mouth, she tittered like a high-pitched goat: "Heee-_aaaaaahhh_!" she said. "It's a good thing I'm not a man, hmm?"

"Do I declare a draw?" Adric asked Ula.

"Yes!" she nodded so violently her dress bounced up and down.

He raised his voice. "Both participants have lost their weapon of choice. I declare a draw!"

"Bravo! Bravo! Excellent show!" Baron's father clapped, so everyone else felt obligated to clap as well. Everyone except Baron and Huey. They evidently thought it was more appropriate to continue with a fist fight.

Gauthier grinned at Ula. "Oh my! How improper!" He cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled as loudly as he could: "Break his nose!"

"I've had enough of this," Susan announced as the two men crashed into a table on the Schneider side. She waited until Huey threw Baron in front of her and swept them both up by their ears. "While I am in no way looking forward to a welcome feast or any other silly pleasantries, I am tired of this duel business and think it would be best to set everyone straight right now. Even though neither of you understand me, I am sure my actions speak louder than words, so you will _behave yourselves_!" As she spoke, she dragged them into the woods, whereupon she found a little stream at the bottom of a hill and threw them into it. The Schneiders and Lahnsteins burst into applause yet again, having followed her to see what she would do.

An old Lahnstein woman in a wheelchair remarked, "I wish my idiot brother was half as interesting as her, but he'd just have dribbled on them."

----------------------------------------------

The Doctor woke to silence, and that wasn't a good sign. Having nine fellow travelers with him, especially when they were human, meant one of them should be making trouble at all times. And if they were in the TARDIS, he should hear the TARDIS' soothing hum whispering the ship's status to him.

Of course, they weren't in the TARDIS. They were in Singapore. He liked old Singapore, before they got all hung up about rules and punishments. Singapore was earthy and watery at the same time, and it had great food.

Singapore was... _the TARDIS_?

He was in the TARDIS!

"Jack?" he called. He was sprawled on the ground, his body hurt all over, and everyone was hiding from him: Jack _had_ to be responsible. But how had Jack shut down the TARDIS? Jack wouldn't shut down the TARDIS, Jack loved the TARDIS.

His head pounded, but he had to think. He took hold of the console and dragged himself to his feet. "Let's see," he said out loud. The sound of his voice helped him think. "I was in a pub. Yes, that's consistent with Jack. And there was coffee and... ooooh, that waitress with no clothes. Well, she had some clothes, but it might as well not have been there for all practical purposes." He should stop talking about naked waitresses since that would amuse Jack and encourage him to continue his game. "And they were getting violent--not the naked waitresses but everyone else--and I got knocked out! Yes. Because Jack started a bar fight."

He stared at the dimmed column in the middle of the TARDIS. "But why am I in the TARDIS and why is it on silent running?" His eyes widened. "_Silent running_?" Checking the displays, they all read the same thing. "Emergency protocols! Automatically activated! That's not good... what happened?"

A giant lever activated a video recording of what had happened around the TARDIS before it fled into the time vortex. There was a lot of screaming, a lot of people he recognized, a lot of people he didn't recognize, and a giant stone statue destroying the island. "Not Jack's fault then," he concluded. "Probably."

His mind already had several possibilities as to what the stone statue was and why it attacked Singapore. After all, there wasn't much that could send the TARDIS running. "And without letting anyone else in," the Doctor admonished the ship. He could track them down using the keys he'd given them, which meant his more pressing concern was to find the invaders so that he knew how to counter them when he went to rescue everyone.

"Aha!" A lock on the same energy signature emanating from the statue. Tying the travel coordinates to the scanner, he put the TARDIS back into full operation. "Here we go!" The ship roared to life, rocking and lurching as it followed the signal out of the vortex.

He was out the door as soon as the ship stopped moving, but he skidded to a halt when he found himself in a sparsely decorated room with stone walls and wooden floors littered with loose pieces of paper and pamphlets bound by string. There was a king-sized bed at one end and an antique writing desk at the other. Outside the window, a river swept its way through rolling green hills and dark forests.

"This isn't Singapore," he said.

"No, it's not," a voice came from behind him. "And that blue box wasn't here when I left, though for that matter, neither were you."

The matter-of-fact tone of the young man in the doorway impressed the Doctor. A little over 170 centimeters tall with unkempt blonde hair and blue eyes still as a glacier and framed by golden oval spectacles, he wore a maroon sweater and scuffed leather pants, good clothing for wandering the woods in a colder climate. A simple description of him would have been bookish, as his arms were wrapped around a rumpled stack of notes and literature, but there was so much more to him because his posture gave nothing away, not his habits and not his thoughts. He just stood and analyzed. Yet when he broke into a smile, it was like finding a sunlit clearing in the darkest heart of a wild forest. "Is that what I think it is behind you?" He leaned forward, his neutral stance shifting into one of excitement and delight.

"I really don't think so," the Doctor replied, moving to close the TARDIS door.

"Yes, yes it is!" He bounded past before the Doctor could stop him and entered the TARDIS. "It's bigger on the inside! Oh, this is brilliant."

"What?" The Doctor checked his chronometer. He was in the mid-1800s and talking to someone who expected to find a box that was bigger on the inside. Several regenerations ago, he would've been ecstatic, but now his interest was tempered by a touch of wariness.

The man pushed his stack of papers into the Doctor's arms and went to investigate the console. "We've been arguing about the mathematical validity of folding space to contain a greater volume within an object than its dimensions would allow. The sticking point has been the possibility of extra dimensions beyond the four we physically experience!"

"Excuse me, who's 'we'?"

"Some friends from the university. We keep in contact. You have some of their letters."

The Doctor staggered over to the desk and dropped the collection onto its surface. He skimmed through the top few letters. "You argue complex mathematical proofs of n-space in casual correspondence?"

To the Doctor's relief, the young man exited the TARDIS and even closed the door behind him. "My name's Rainart. Rainart von Lahnstein. You're in the German Confederation, and that river out there is the Rhine. By the fact that you were checking your watch, you don't just travel through space but through time as well, but you probably now know when you are."

"Very good. I'm the Doctor, and I like you. You're perceptive and you're clever. Bit too clever, really, but so am I."

"I assure you, I'm just a regular German citizen."

"No, you're not, because in this time period, there is no Germany. Oh, but you're _educated_. You're one of those reunification types, if my history serves me."

"Indeed. Germany shall be restored to her former glory."

"Some might say the Holy Roman Empire wasn't all that glorious for you."

"We look to the future, Doctor, not the past. The question is, based on your advanced technology, why are _you_ wandering the past?"

"Oh that's-- I'm just a little bit lost. I was expecting to find something that..." He hesitated. "That... I'm not even sure what I was looking for, but hey, you're clever, maybe you can help me. Have you seen anything, I don't know, _strange_, recently?"

"Even my siblings seem like strangers sometimes."

"Not what I meant. I was tracking an energy signature of something that can distort space. Rather fearsome technology, doesn't belong in this era. It would manifest in a form that would be called magic."

Rainart pondered this description but at last shook his head. "Mind, I don't pay much attention to stories like that. I dismiss them as superstitious. A little narrow-minded of me, I'll admit, but with some of the tales that villagers have, it's much too difficult to sift fact from fiction. I can introduce you to the family, though, and they might be more helpful."

"I'd love to meet your family, Rainart."

He gave him a wry smile. "The rest of my family is not like me."

"Oh, give them some credit. They did raise you."

"But the mind--our library raised my mind, and the university matured it."

The Doctor followed Rainart out of his room. "And how will you introduce me? Could I be a distant cousin; I always like being a distant cousin of someone."

"I'm afraid you're too much like me to be a Lahnstein. I'd have a much harder time passing you off than Ula did with those strange peasants."

"It's beneath you to speak poorly of the lower class. And did you say strange? Strange in what way?"

Rainart paused in the middle of the hallway, nearly causing the Doctor to run into him. "I had the strangest sensation when I saw you. Almost like déjà vu but not. Now I know why. It's the look in your eyes. That woman had the same look. It was... well, maybe I should start from the beginning. You see, there were a series of duels scheduled between my family and the Schneiders, who are feuding with us, earlier this afternoon, but one of the daughters, Ula Schneider, broke them up by bringing in two strangely dressed people and claiming them as distant cousins. What were their names, what were their names? Oh, I can't remember. Susan! That was it. The woman was Susan and the boy..."

An insistent chiming started up, like someone ringing a bell much too hard. "_Afternoon tea!_" a woman cried, her voice pitched at just the frequency to feel like a piece of iron being driven through your head. "Afternoon teeeeea everyone!"

"It is not the right time for afternoon tea," the Doctor remarked. "And I didn't know the Germans did afternoon tea."

"We don't," Rainart said, sounding for all the world like Marvin the terminally depressed robot. "That's my sister, Elise. She dropped out of university in Britain but picked up their damned customs. And afternoon tea got delayed because of the duels, so mother pushed dinner back by three hours to accommodate."

"Your parents sent your sister through higher education? That's progressive of them."

"It was mother. She wanted her daughters to get the same education as her sons, but they disowned Edwynna when she married a cowherder at sixteen, so everything came down to Elise. That's why, even though she dropped out, she still gets coddled."

"That wasn't very nice, disowning your sister."

"I argued against it, but she still comes and goes as she pleases, and it's only mother who won't talk to her, which to be honest, is a blessing."

"TEA, RAINART! WHERE ARE YOU?"

Rainart flinched. "On the other hand, there's something to be said about silencing Elise as well."

"Shouldn't keep them waiting. I like tea, anyway, what do you have against tea?"

"It gets boring."

"How do sandwiches get boring?"

"RAINART! TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEA!"

"Uh oh." Rainart ducked behind the Doctor, which was an ineffective move considering how thin the Time Lord was. A woman the Doctor assumed to be Elise came marching up the staircase at the end of the hall, a wonder in a sky blue dress with white frills, the sort of color combination that conjured the image of an avalanche coming at you. Yet other than the terrifying prospect of tea, Elise seemed an enjoyable presence. She had a smile despite seeming annoyed and tended toward a plumpness that helped enhance her natural looks. He could picture her as a shepherd in the Swiss Alps forcing all the sheep to have tea parties.

"Tea missionaries," the Doctor said as she approached. "That'd be a brilliant idea, tea missionaries."

"I wrote a thesis about that, but the teacher failed me because the assignment was about the Medici family."

"Ironic, as the Medici family was quite interested in the development of new ideas and the building of wealth."

"Oooh, I like you professor." Elise blushed.

"Who told you I was a professor?"

"You're with Rainart, and you don't look silly enough to be a student."

"I told you I couldn't pass you off as a cousin," Rainart said.

"You!" Elise pointed at Rainart. "You! I will forgive you for being late this time, but I'm mad at you for concealing such a wonderful, learned man from us."

"I didn't hide him; he just arrived!"

"Nonsense. How come none of us heard him arrive?"

"The servants let him into my room during the duel."

"Yes, the help is wonderful here." The Doctor hoped they could move on soon, as he sensed an argument building.

"Servants are not supposed to take initiative," Elise replied.

"Yeah, Rainart left explicit instruction. _Incredibly_ explicit instructions. So, tea?"

Elise brightened. "Of course, the tea! How could I forget? Come on, then, Rainart, and uh..."

"The Doctor." He performed an elaborate bow, figuring that was the best course of action. "Just call me the Doctor."

----------------------------------------------

"It's quite lucky our family averaged ten children per generation when they built the castle," Ula explained to Adric, "because we have all these bedrooms free. I only have five brothers and sisters, see. It goes Huey, me, Gauthier, Hildegard and Karin--they're twins--and Louie. Louie's only nine, and to be honest, I think he was a bit of an accident, but that'd be impolite to say to anyone else, so it'll be our little secret."

"Okay."

"If you see Louie coming, run. He's a right little terror with his slingshot."

They were halfway down the hall when she threw open a door and led them into a pink room. It was pink. That was really the only way to describe it. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, the drapes, the bed, the wardrobe, the rugs, the tapestries, the desk, the lamps, the teddy bears big and small, the finger paintings hung over the pink fireplace, _all of it_ was pink.

"Er," Adric said.

"This," Susan said, "had better be your room."

"Hildegard and Karin used to have adjoining rooms," Ula told him. "We thought that would be good for you and Susan. This room was Hildegard's; it'll make sense once you meet her."

"What's the other room look like?" Adric asked. "And I hope we didn't kick anyone out."

"No, the twins don't get along that well, so they moved into new rooms years ago." Ula pulled back one of the wall hangings to reveal a door. The next room continued to prove that the resemblance between Hildegard and Karin was only skin deep.

Painted brown and green, the room contained a matching set of painstakingly-carved mahogany furniture that looked like they were built around live trees. The sheets and curtains were layered and embroidered to resemble leaves, and the tapestries were all set deep in the forest with paintings from fairy tales like little red riding hood and the wolf or Goldilocks and the bears. At first, Adric thought they were chosen because they were fairy tales, but then he realized the tapestries all had one other thing in common: they all contained depictions of wild animals.

"The true heart of a child," Susan murmured.

"Does that mean, since you're older than me, I get this room?"

"Not a chance in hell."

"I'll let you work out who gets which room," Ula said. "Though I'll be honest, it looks like she's taken a liking to this one. Tough luck for you. But I need to help prepare your welcome dinner."

"No chicken I hope."

She frowned. "I do not find that funny, cousin."

"I'd thought it was clever," Adric said once she'd left. "I mean-- _urmph_!"

Susan slammed her hand over his mouth, pulling him after her until they stood between the bed and the fireplace in the one portion of the room that was a clear, open space. She took two steps to the mantel to pick up a poker and returned to his side.

"What's going on?" he asked, his heart pounding wildly.

"Show yourself," Susan demanded in German as she paced circles around him. He wondered when she'd picked up the phrase.

There was a span of five endless seconds in which nothing happened, and then Susan repeated her words, but this time, he didn't hear them so much as _feel_ them: SHOW YOURSELF.

A soft cackle filled the room, and a robed figure emerged from behind a Turkish tapestry of a nightingale singing beside a rose. Drawing closer, the newcomer's presence seemed to expand, trying to fill the room and being countered by Susan's stubborn refusal to fear anything, supernatural or ordinary.

"There shall be a feast soon," the figure announced in an androgynous pitch, slightly raspy and echoing around the room. Adric noticed the person was shorter than himself, though he seemed to walk with back slightly hunched. A hood hid the figure's face and identity.

"Is that a threat?" Adric asked.

The figure pointed at Susan. Adric had hoped to get a hint of his identity based on the appearance of his hand, but he wore black leather gloves. "They were fools to believe you a fool. You are more right in the head than the entire household combined, and you are more real than those who mock and pity you."

THEN LET'S NOT PLAY GAMES. YOU CAN UNDERSTAND ME WHEN I SPEAK LIKE THIS.

"Of course, though that voice doesn't work on me."

YOU CAME OUT READILY ENOUGH.

"I was intrigued. Go on, tell me to dance a jig, and I'll show you how readily I obey commands."

TELL ME WHO YOU ARE.

"No. In my own time. See? Perhaps I should ask who _you_ are, one who does not speak our tongue but knows a language much more primeval."

TELL ME WHO YOU ARE.

"A one-hit wonder, aren't you? You can call me... _vampire_." The figure cackled again, drawing closer.

"'There shall be a feast soon,'" Adric quoted. "That _was_ a threat! You're going to eat us!"

YOU'RE NOT A REAL VAMPIRE. I'VE MET VAMPIRES, AND THEY DON'T SMELL LIKE YOU.

A soft giggle answered them. "But I'm a vampire of sorts, feeding on the vitality of youth, swept along by time."

"What do you want? No, wait, you know about Susan. That means you were at the duel!"

"I witnessed the duel, yes. Was I present amongst the Lahnsteins and Schneiders? You don't think I'm dull enough to answer such an obvious trap, do you? As for what I want, I wish to speak with you."

The vampire was within striking distance now, but Susan raised her poker. The tip vanished into the darkness beneath the hood. He stopped his advance but didn't otherwise show any signs of concern.

I COULD PUSH YOUR HOOD BACK.

"But you won't. Look deep down into me--you're real enough to do that. I'm not evil."

EVIL IS SUBJECTIVE, BUT THERE IS THE TOUCH OF ANOTHER WORLD UPON YOU.

"Which is just a fact. What are facts but the tools with which people build great lies?"

LIKE YOURSELF. IT'S TAKEN A LOT OF SLEEPLESS NIGHTS TO CONVINCE YOURSELF YOU'RE A VAMPIRE.

"Think of it as a metaphor. A metaphor more telling and useful than most. Besides, when you've seen what I have, sleep is overrated. Now, I don't know who you really are--though I don't think you're hapless cousins from Bavaria--but I'm warning you that I intend to end this feud between Schneider and Lahnstein. Your presence serves my ends, but if you try to make the situation worse, I will... take you out of the equation."

"Why would we want to help this silliness continue? This feud's the stupidest thing I've seen, and I've seen people do a lot of stupid things."

"Good. We must cooperate or perish. The fate of the world depends upon it. Think on that. I have seen the storm that approaches, though the sky may look clear now. Think on that and decide whether you will help."

Susan lowered the poker. NO, THINK ON THIS: THE FATE OF _EVERY_ WORLD DEPENDS UPON THIS. IF WE FAIL, THE UNIVERSE DIES.

The vampire contemplated them for a moment before shrugging. "And what's the universe to me? I haven't seen the universe. The universe has never done anything for me. No, it's this world I care about, and it's this world I intend to save."

THAT'S RATHER SELFISH OF YOU.

"Well, vampires aren't exactly known for charity, are they?" He let out that echoing cackle one last time and swept away, disappearing behind the tapestry and leaving no hint of his existence except for a few dying ripples of cloth.

Susan dropped the poker and ran over to throw back the tapestry, but the wall behind was solid stone, and the vampire was nowhere to be found. "We'll have to be on the lookout for secret passages," Susan said.

"Why would the fate of the universe depend on these two families?"

Susan patted down her hair. "I don't know, but if you want to hide a secret, the best place is with family. That's true for anyone, but with nobility, well, you could find a thousand secrets and still not be sure you've uncovered the one you need."


	29. Chapter 21: In Which the Doctor Medicate

**Chapter 21**

**In Which the Doctor Medicates Many People**

Elise von Lahnstein had really done afternoon tea right. The Doctor was impressed.

"Scones! Cakes! Sandwiches! You've even got the multi-layered stand!" The Lahnsteins stared at him like he was a madman. "Sorry, I'm British myself, so it's like being home again."

"You speak excellent German," Elise commented.

The Doctor noticed Rainart's eyes had widened at his proclamation and guessed the cause. "Of course. I must, to teach in Germany."

Rainart followed up with, "Absolutely. Dr. Smith had taught at the University of Cologne for three years before I attended."

"Love Cologne." He smiled at a room full of cold stares.

"You look young to have been teaching for eleven years," a severe-looking woman with half-moon spectacles said. Her blonde hair was graying, creating streaks of white against light gold, making her waist-length hair shimmer like a weave of cloth. Yet her face was free of wrinkles, and since the Doctor smelled no make-up on her, the blush on her cheeks was natural. She must have been a renowned beauty in her youth, and age had only refined and, indeed, perfected her looks. With a figure to match, the Doctor wouldn't have been surprised if the feud had started over her. Wars had been fought for less.

"Thank you," the Doctor replied, "but you of all people must understand what it means to appear younger than your true age, for if Rainart is correct in his description of his mother as a woman who could subdue a lion with a look, then you must be her." He gave a deep bow and checked Rainart's expression to make sure he had guessed correctly. When he saw the boy give him a pursed smile, half impressed and half annoyed, he winked before straightening back up. Elise giggled.

"Rainart is correct." She inclined her head deep enough to indicate grudging respect.

Rainart stepped forward. "Frau Schmetterling von Lahnstein, meet Professor Smith."

The Doctor grinned. "Just John Smith is fine." It helped when everyone made up the same pseudonym for him. Saved him having to remember different names.

Rainart indicated the plump figure beside his mother. "Herr Abelerd von Lahnstein, my father."

Abelerd gave a hearty laugh and clasped the Doctor by the hand. The rest of the family went by in rapid succession, almost too fast for even the Doctor to take in. Waldo was the family patriarch, the elderly father of Abelerd, pushed about in a wheelchair by a massive old man named Jakob, who was evidently his wife's brother, a gentle giant who wasn't all mentally present. Waldo was a stick of a man, as though all his weight had gone into his son, but his arms and legs appeared bloated, like the limbs of a balloon animal. The gout, it appeared to be.

Adalie was Waldo's wife, and she had the same slightly-pouting, eagle-eyed look of severity that her daughter-in-law possessed. She was an exercise in contrasts: every movement of her body was like part of a planned dance while her face could not be described as better than plain; her skin was wrinkled like a prune while she spoke with a voice clear and pure as a mountain stream rushing into a roaring river; her snow white hair was tied into a tight bun but the binding consisted of a dazzling red bow and dangling ribbons. Her dress was entirely grey, managing to be elegant rather than drab and stylishly stark despite a large number of frills along the front. She had a wheelchair that matched her husband's but got by fine without it, preferring to hover beside Jakob, the brother who dribbled a little out the left side of his mouth and didn't have his shirt tucked in.

Annegret was Waldo's younger sister. She was pale and resembled tissue paper, in danger of being swept away by the slightest touch. Of all the older Lahnsteins present, she was the only one who seemed to enjoy the party, looking about at all the decorations like a wide-eyed child, though she clutched her teacup as though someone might snatch it from her at any moment. As people moved past her, she swayed a little, teetering this way and that--as though her cane was a metronome and she was keeping time--before her maid appeared to steady her. Then Lysanne would lean against the wall and vanish from notice again, which was quite impressive considering she looked like Marilyn Monroe, all the way down to the short French maid's dress that fluttered in the drafts that swept through the castle.

There was, Adalie explained, one more Lahnstein from their generation, but Bernard died twenty-two years ago--the latest casualty of the long-standing feud between the families-- while dueling Friedrich Schneider. At that pronouncement, everyone crossed themselves and muttered something in low tones, and when the Doctor strained to hear what was said, he realized not all of it was complimentary.

The introductions then moved on to Abelerd's siblings--the children of Waldo and Adalie--which included another Adalie, an old maid who had not been as fortunate as her namesake mother and who tended to loose a braying laugh at awkward times, Edmund and his wife, Dorothea, who lived on the adjacent property but were visiting for tea, and Adolfa, who was not present, having married a wealthy duke (also named Bernard) and moved to his larger castle in Saxony. 

"Ah, and there's Edwynna," Rainart said as the lowing of cattle preceded a large heifer pushing through the crowd of aristocracy.

"Sorry, terribly sorry!" exclaimed a young girl dressed in periwinkle lederhosen as she bounded through the room. A man in tight-fitting red overalls and a fedora with a large yellow feather sticking out of it skipped into the room after her, jingling with a cowbell in his hand and a belt of lesser bells looped across his chest from the shoulder to the waist.

"Who?" Schmetterling asked, her voice crisp as a fresh apple. She turned so that she faced the exact opposite direction from the newcomers. "I don't see anyone."

Abelerd slapped the Doctor on the back, and he would've sprawled across the ground if the cow hadn't been there for him to fall against. "Never mind the wife. Women get silly ideas in their heads sometimes."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Abelerd. I would've thought the family honor would be more important to you."

"If you don't know what I'm talking about, then how do you know I'm talking about a matter of family honor?"

Schmetterling sniffed. "Everything is about family honor."

"And who are you?" Edwynna asked, bouncing up and down in place. The cow mooed again and started in on the platter of cheese. "Please don't mind Beatrice. She loves her own cheese."

"What people would we be to deny her such simple pleasures, when she provides so much for us?" her husband interjected.

"People who aren't freaks," Edmund said. With that pronouncement, he and Dorothea swept out of the room.

Rainart shrugged. "Uncle also disapproves of Edwynna."

Schmetterling made her way around the cow to retrieve a scone for Jakob, and the Doctor was impressed how nonchalantly she managed to ignore the bovine presence. It was as though she just happened to weave across the room in a large semi-circle, and she didn't even need to act drunk to be convincing. "I wonder where Baron is," she said. "He's normally quite good about social appearances."

"A family tea is hardly a social appearance," the Doctor ventured.

"True." Schmetterling brightened. "Family gatherings aren't nearly as important." As she said that, she managed to bump into Edwynna's husband and spill tea all over him.

"Yodel-_ow_-ow-ow!" he half-sang and half-screamed his way out of the room.

"My, how lucky. I nearly tripped but none of the tea fell onto the ground."

"Mother!" Edwynna stamped her foot. "That was cruel!"

Schmetterling ignored her, so Edwynna came closer and stamped again, this time catching the edge of her mother's dress. Schmetterling's hand swept out and slapped her across the face, all without the slightest change of expression. Edwynna burst into tears and ran to her father, who swept her into his arms and shot his wife angry looks. She continued to nibble on her scone, never glancing at him.

"Your family is very..." the Doctor realized that a thousand years of travel through space and time hadn't provided him with an adjective that would be adequate yet tactful so he settled on the tried-and-true human standby: "...interesting."

Rainart led him to the corner of the room before a full-out argument could erupt. "That is why I didn't know how to answer you when you asked for something strange."

"Not that sort of strange. I was thinking more along the lines of giant stone statues rampaging across the countryside, but you probably haven't seen any of those, have you?"

"No."

"That's too bad. Do you mind if I poke around?"

"Yes."

Rainart and the Doctor both froze, because the voice had come from between them. They looked down and saw Annegret staring up at them with beady eyes. The Doctor instinctively turned his head to track down Lysanne and found himself face-to-face with her, his lips a bare centimeter from her wide-open mouth. Then he realized that, in taking up a spot in the corner, he'd crushed her against the wall.

"I'm terribly sorry!" he yelped as he leapt aside. 

"You're very bony, Dr. Smith," Lysanne replied, brushing herself off and catching her breath. He found himself transfixed by her heaving bosom, not because of any sexual curiosity but because their motion defied the laws of physics. "Surprisingly strong as well."

"I would appreciate if you do not take any further liberties with my maidservant," Annegret said.

"I'm sorry. I didn't see either of you there!"

"Neither did I," Rainart added, fighting back a laugh.

"I object to you 'poking around,' as you put it," Annegret said. "My quarters, at least, are off-limits, even if Rainart doesn't respect the boundaries of his other family members. I expect nothing less from a radical revolutionary."

"Auntie, I am not a radical, and my friends are visionaries, not warmongers."

"Political change is bloodshed."

"Now that's not fair," the Doctor said, "though given history to this point, it isn't an entirely unreasonable conclusion."

"If you're looking for something strange, you don't need to look any further than the river."

"Really? What's there?"

Rather than answer, Annegret removed a sprig of a withered plant from her dress. At first glance, it looked like nothing special, but then the doctor noticed purple mottling along the stem and undersides of the mint-like leaves, so light he'd mistook them for shadows. His breath caught.

"May I?" he asked in a hushed tone, as though they were in a church. She thrust it into his hand, and he lifted it to his ear.

"What is that?" Rainart asked. "I don't think I've ever seen such a species before, though Baron is the naturalist, not I."

"Lean closer," the Doctor replied. "Listen."

Their ears came together beside the plant, and a faint ringing began, like humming wineglasses, but the tone shifted back and forth in the semblance of a melody.

"_Galæsia nachtis_," the Doctor said, and even though he'd said the name out loud, he still couldn't believe he was holding a specimen. The shock was such that he found he couldn't continue the explanation, which was a rare enough event in itself.

"It's a mythical herb," Annegret spoke for him.

"Legendary," he managed.

"You may hear similarities to 'nightingale' in its etymology, and you would be right if you do. Roughly speaking, it means 'spell-' or 'song-in-the-night,' but the common name is 'Singing Plant,' so named because of the sound you just heard. It is believed to be a cure for all diseases, but that is legend corrupted in re-telling. I have run experiments on the small sample in my possession, and its true properties are even more amazing: Galæsia nachtis reverses the aging process."

"What?" The Doctor wasn't sure whether he should be elated or disappointed. On the one hand, the singing plant could have been the answer to Gwen's plight, but this new development was even more revolutionary. If true, Galæsia nachtis might induce a process in humans that was similar to Time Lord regeneration. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! I don't have enough to create visible effects in a human, but I tested it on plant cells and small animals, and the results speak for themselves."

"Where did you get it?"

"The river. There are growths on the bank where the Rhine runs most turbulent, but the footing isn't good. Investigate at your own risk."

"Most turbulent... do you mean the Bend?" Rainart asked.

"Yes, you children call it the Bend."

Rainart shook his head. "You can't go there. It's near the black forest, and Baron's reported poachers. Until he's back in the castle, you risk being shot in addition to drowning if you go."

"I wouldn't mind waiting until evening," the Doctor replied. He extended a hand to thank Annegret, but in the few seconds he'd turned his attention to Rainart, the old lady had disappeared, along with her maid. "Now that's a woman with many talents."

"I agree. I've heard Aunt Annegret was quite the lady in her day, and no one understands why she never married."

"Maybe she liked it that way."

"I rather suspect she does. A man would only slow her down."

**----------------------------------**

It wasn't a dark and stormy night. It was dark, because nights usually are, unless a massive asteroid is burning through the atmosphere, but there wouldn't be much use for quibbling about the time of day in such a situation. The sky lacked any semblance of storminess, however, and the full Milky Way was plastered across the sky as clearly as wallpaper, or tapestries full of dark and creepy woodland animals.

For a moment, Adric was certain the animals' eyes were following him, but he credited the effect to a talented weaver and didn't trouble Susan with the issue. There might be secret passages hidden behind the cloth, but the eyes didn't look like holes, so people probably weren't lurking. Besides, the number of eyes vastly outnumbered the number of humans in the castle.

"I think I like the pink room better," he said to Susan.

"Smart boy," she murmured. Her eyes remained fixed on the tapestry behind which the vampire had vanished.

"Let's go to the kitchen, see what we can do to help."

Susan's hair curled up by itself, and she batted at the strands absently without putting much effort into flattening them. "That... feels like a good suggestion." Her voice was distant, and even though she looked at him, she wasn't looking _at_ him.

"Are you all right?"

"Something's not right, and I don't mean the vampire. I feel... _hurry!_" She grabbed his hand and rushed into the hall. He flew after her, his legs moving as fast as he could make them go, but the initial tug had squeezed all the air out of his lungs and he didn't think he could keep up the pace.

Through a parlor, down one flight of stairs and up another, they traveled an assortment of rooms, each as empty as the last, before dashing through the servants' quarters and ending up in the kitchen. As they struggled to catch their breath, Adric managed: "I think we went in a huge circle."

"I don't know how the castle's laid out!"

"You could've... _asked_... for directions."

"When they don't understand me?"

"I'm sorry, may I help you?" Adric jumped as Rosa Schneider took his arm. Ula's mother loomed a head taller than Susan and four times as wide. Although half her girth consisted of layers upon layers of frills and cloth, she was still a significant woman, from the explosion of curly strawberry hair to the water tower-shaped bustle of her dress. Nevertheless, she moved with the grace of a ballerina and had, in fact, been a dancer in her youth, if he correctly remembered the stream of information Ula had thrown at him on their way back to the castle.

"I, _we_, were just wondering if we could help."

Before Rosa could respond, Ula swept over with a bleating lamb in tow. "Cousin, you should be resting!" The lamb tried to back away, its hooves scrabbling against the ceramic tiling. She jerked the leash. "Bad Sassy. Cook! Here, can you take care of Sassy for me?"

"Uh, is that--" Adric began as the goat was led away. His sentence was cut off by an urgent baa-ing followed by a squelchy thud. "I guess it was."

"Sassy was a good lamb. I don't know what got into her."

"I can't imagine." A bright red rivulet appeared from around the corner and made its way across the floor. His stomach did a few flips before settling down just in time for a blood-curdling scream that wracked the castle. It was pitched at a frequency that intensified as it bounced off the stone walls, culminating in a piercing assault on the eardrums that was akin to the downpour of arrows on the French at Agincourt--he knew because the Doctor had accidentally materialized there with him and Jamie before beating a frantic retreat.

Being the lady that she was, Ula's reaction was to cry out dramatically: "A murder!" and faint. Rosa hailed from the school of "The show must go on!" and caught her daughter as she fell.

"Do you think it's really a murder?" Adric asked Susan, who glared back at him, making him realize how stupid he must look, querying his supposedly dim sister. It was like one of the Earth shows he watched with the Doctor and Tegan. _Lassie,_ he remembered it was called, though instead of Timmy falling down the well, it was Timmy's remains being pushed in to dispose of the evidence.

As this train of thought left the station, the rest of the household poured out of the kitchen and scattered in every direction to find the source of the scream. Most headed for the entryway and the library, which were located on the first floor where an intruder might be, while the more mystery-novel-oriented went for the wine cellar, and all seemed to possess no survival instinct considering they believed they were looking for a crime scene where, presumably, the killer was still nearby.

Adric was about to follow the crowd when Susan tapped his shoulder and pointed at a curly-haired young woman who looked about his own age. She skipped past them in a frilly pink dress so large that it had an accretion disk all its own, or maybe that was just more frills falling off due to the stresses of the dress swirling and quaking and rotating in an attempt to keep up with the movement of the person at its core. Her destination looked to be the stairs, and she moved with an otherworldly air that belied her airy teenage appearance. 

Susan muttered something about skipping, but when Adric gave her a questioning look, she just said, "People in large groups never know what they're doing. You want to find the truth, you follow the creepy, solitary ones." Her hair twitched as she spoke, like frog tongues darting at invisible flies.

Once the woman was out of sight, they followed her up the stairs. "I'm going to guess that's Karin," Adric remarked in a low whisper. "You know, the one Ula said your bedroom belonged to."

"That would explain a lot." Susan nodded.

Karin did not stop at the second floor, or the third, and when they reached the topmost landing, Adric pushed open the door to reveal a sight that took his breath away. They were atop a rampart connecting two turrets that loomed into the sky like giant pillars. Overhead, the stars were so innumerable that they shone like a layer of foam atop the sea. The black forest was a line of absolute darkness to their right, standing as an abyss between the feeble torchlight of the Schneider and Lahnstein castles. Evenfall had made the colors more vivid in a visceral way that sent shivers down Adric's spine. The blue tinge of the night sky seeped into everything, and the dark emerald of the lawn fifty feet below called to him. The maroon of the Schneider banners looked like old glory and smelled of the sweat and tears of battles won. All of it glowed, catching and reflecting whatever light would come its way. In that instant, it hit him. He didn't think he'd ever been more removed from technology--no spaceships or electricity or Time Lords standing by to whisk him away. It was just stone and fire, wood and water. Primal fears called to him, howling about life and blood and death.

A gun cocked, its sharp crack ringing clear against the castle walls before bounding into the distant gurgles of the river. Adric threw up his hands in time for the barrel of a shotgun to swing into his vision and stay there, a line of steel leading into the burnished copper eyes of Karin Schneider.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. Her voice was low and melodic, the sort that could lull bears to sleep and make rivers change course.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he replied, more because he couldn't think of anything else to say than out of defiance. Saying, "I'm following you because I think you can lead me to the scene of a murder" didn't seem the best course of action given the gun in his face.

There wasn't the slightest change in expression as Karin lowered the shotgun. Within moments, the weapon vanished amidst the folds of her dress, and Adric wondered how many more surprises she had hidden in her clothing. He didn't want to find out. "You're not a killer."

Adric's jaw dropped. "Of course not!"

"And you're the idiot." Karin had turned her gaze to Susan. "You're the cousins from Bavaria."

"Yeah. Yes, I am, er, we are. Do you, uh, know what's going on?"

"My grandfather is dead." She swiveled and rustled along the rampart. The two of them followed at a brisk pace, and somehow, Susan got ahead of him. The moment she caught sight of the view inside the room, she pushed him aside and moved to block his vision.

"_What?_" he exclaimed.

"You don't want to see this."

"I'm not a child!" He shoved past her, and then the stench hit him. Retreating as fast as he arrived, he leaned over the parapet and retched.

"It's a good thing we didn't eat dinner yet," Susan said in her governess' voice, the sort of tone one used on a frightened child who needed to be reassured without hurting his ego.

"I wasn't expecting..." Well, he wasn't expecting quite that much blood. Over such a large surface area. And so many body parts scattered around the room. There had also been that hand still clinging onto the back of the chair.

Then Susan added, "Although, I'll admit, it seems like a little more blood than is in the human body." Adric threw up again, this time on Susan's shoe, but she deserved it.

From the doorway, Karin examined the room as she might a painting in a museum. "This was deliberate."

"Really?" Adric hoped he didn't sound too sarcastic, as her rifle was still fresh in his memory, but he couldn't help thinking she was stating the obvious.

She tilted her head, watching him like a bird. There was something of an offer in her eyes. Taking a few tentative steps closer, he paused three feet away from her and the terrifying room. Her response was to remove a handkerchief from the purse draped over her left shoulder and tie it over his nose. "Think of the blood as nature's paint," she said as she tightened the knot, her fingers brushing the hair at the back of his neck. "Without it, her canvas would be empty."

"Paint." Pressing the handkerchief tight against his nose and mouth, he stepped into the room with Karin. "They were just redecorating... with mannequins... and did a really bad job."

The main part of the body--that is, the chest and one complete leg--lay upon the bed, an elegant four-poster with ripped sheets and a torn canopy, some of which looked sliced apart by a knife while others had collapsed from the weight of someone pulling on them. The body lay at an angle with the neck ending beside the pillow on the far edge of the bed. A writing desk beneath the window by the door was snapped in half, and the chair had been knocked over, but one arm was still clinging to the back of it. The other arm hung from the candle chandelier overhead, but the hand that belonged to it was nowhere to be seen. The head had rolled into the dresser opposite the bed, while several feet of intestines decorated the windowsill. 

"Where's his other leg?"

"Grandfather Imre only had one leg. The other one's wooden. It's that pile of splinters beside the gallbladder."

"The gallbladder?"

"The pear-like thing in the puddle of candle wax at the head of the bed."

"Ah. I see. You're awfully calm about this."

"I've seen worse."

"Such as?"

"Gauthier at a tea party. His manners are absolutely atrocious. Oh, you mean in terms of violence? There was that time a pack of wolves tore a live deer apart in the forest. It's incredible how much blood is in an animal." Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, but then she caught herself with a sharp intake of air and blushed. "I'm sorry, my stories probably aren't helping your stomach." He didn't think she was actually sorry, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

"Well, I didn't know there was so much blood in the human body either."

"There should be more."

Adric goggled.

"She's right," Susan commented, stepping into the room for the first time. "I was being sardonic earlier. Pay attention."

"Look at the smear patterns on the wall." Karin pointed with an umbrella, and even though Adric had been staring right at her, he couldn't tell where it had come from. "A bleeding body thrown against the wall should smear in a vertical pattern, and splashing should cause blots that drip downward. However, the blood is at a sideways angle, and it is congealing."

"You're saying there wasn't a struggle."

Karin gave him a small smile, lips pressed tight in a somewhat pouty manner. "Good. I think you catch on too fast to be a cousin of mine."

"You said it's congealing. Is that important?"

"Yes, as is the fact that there are stains but no puddles on the floor even though it's stone."

"There should be more blood," he repeated. "So everything about the scene indicates there was a struggle. Something happened, a cold-blooded murder attempt or a robbery gone wrong--"

"Or a Lahnstein," Karin added.

"Yes, or that, I suppose. But Imre fought back and had a messy death. But it's not messy enough, which means someone _wants_ us to think that's what happened but Imre actually died before being cut apart. That's why there isn't as much blood"

"Precisely. In fact, he died in bed. There's only one set of footprints around the entire room."

"Those are bare feet! How do you-- _oh_. Imre had a false leg, but there's no markings from it. But... we heard a scream just moments before!"

"Who said it was my grandfather's scream?" Karin tip-toed through the room, keeping her dress and feet from touching any of the mess. When she reached the head, she pushed back one eyelid and nodded. "The eyes have filmed over. Grandfather was dead for hours before the scream."

"So what does that mean?"

"It means my family's about done searching the castle." Karin put her hands to her face and let out an ear-splitting scream. "HELP! HELP! Oh my goodness, someone's killed grandfather Imre in his room and would someone _please hurry up and get here already_!"

"I think that's the end of intelligent conversation for the evening," Susan said. "Time to watch the fireworks."

And fireworks there were, for the first person to answer Karin's summons was her twin, Hildegard. She scampered along the bridge to the tower, took one look at Karin's grin, and fainted splendidly before catching sight of whatever caused her sister so much enjoyment. Adric doubted the faint was real, but considering her dress had even more accoutrements than Karin's, there was little danger to her falling over. She could probably jump over the parapet and bounce to safety.

In addition to the fancier outfit, Hildegard had bleached her hair, clearly striving for an angelic appearance to distinguish herself from her less savory counterpart. Adric decided it made her look insipid but did not voice his opinion out loud.

Raoul came next, looking every inch the operatic hero his name forced him to be, but upon seeing his daughter's limp form on the ground, scooped her into his arms and ran off to revive her and wasn't seen again until the murder scene had been cleaned.

Ula was much too fascinated by blood to be a proper lady, but she stomped on Adric's foot ("Oh my, did I get you? I'm terribly sorry. I sometimes stamp the ground really hard when I get upset and people have an unfortunate habit of being underfoot!") when he pointed that out. Then she retreated to a spot that silhouetted her figure against the moon and stood there like a dramatic princess awaiting rescue.

Her mother became the first person to do anything useful, which was to shoo away everyone and send Karin to summon the castle staff. "I'm terribly sorry you had to see this," she told Adric.

"It's all right. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just shield the young ladies from seeing any more. They are delicate flowers and should not be exposed to the uglier elements of the feud."

"The feud?" Adric wisely did not comment on the flower statement.

"Well, surely, this must be the deed of a Lahnstein, and a terrible deed it is."

"Absolutely horrible." Adric nodded in sympathy.

"Savage!" Rosa was working herself up into quite a state, quivering like a gelatin cake in an earthquake.

"Gruesome."

The word cut off Rosa's impending tirade against the Lahnsteins. "Gruesome? Well, I suppose..."

"You suppose?" he squeaked. He felt the urge to vomit once more.

"I was speaking of the fact that they did not kill him in a field of combat. To _murder_ someone, in secret, in their room. That is, well, it is quite _dishonorable_." She pronounced "dishonorable" as one might say, well, as one might say something that is not proper to say at all. The concept was uncomfortable for her to consider, much less discuss with someone of a younger generation, like a parent trying to have the sex talk with her child or a manatee fending off a motor boat.

The awkward silence was broken by voices drifting over from the other tower. "Quick, do something!" Rosa implored. "Do not let them see this disgrace."

"Er."

"You're not going to be able to stop her from cleaning the crime scene," Susan said in response to his unspoken concern. "Anyway, it's not like we're equipped to learn anything from it. Not unless you know some enterprising dwarves in the region."

Adric shook his head. Gauthier led the pack of oncoming Schneiders, so bad things were going to happen very soon if he didn't stop it. Yet, what would stop a bunch of honor-obsessed, bloodthirsty aristocrats from arriving at a murder scene?

"Tell them the murderer ran into the forest," Susan again answered his question without needing to hear it.

Right, nothing like a good romp in the dark with a murderer on the loose, not to mention the wild animals. Adric ran to the edge of the walkway and pointed. "I think I see a figure running into the forest! It must be the murderer! Look!"

Everyone except Gauthier looked, but Rosa seemed all right with that--you could only be so improper when no one was around to judge. Like a stampede of elephants, it took a while for momentum to turn the other way, which in this case consisted of many people pointing and arguing about which shadow was the killer and just exactly which direction they were headed. It took about two minutes before anyone realized that the killer _must_ be headed for the Lahnstein castle if the killer was a Lahnstein. Once that reasoning sank in, the crowd vanished in the blink of an eye.

Before Ula could leave, Gauthier caught her by the waist and threw her into a puddle of blood.

**----------------------------------**

The Doctor knew something was terribly wrong with time. There were instances when this was self-evident, like when Earth got turned into a flaming wasteland by the Daleks--come to think of it, that had never been rectified...--and there were times when it was so subtle that only he knew it, the burden of the last Time Lord, listening to distant temporal currents and hearing a pebble slip into the turbulence. There were times when it was serious and other times when the solution was more trouble than the original problem. There were the best of times and the worst of times, purple times and fuzzy times, times with thyme and many times in the same time happening multiple times, which did not make for fun times for Time Lords, even back when there was more than one, or two, or maybe four, along with a red fish and a blue fish.

This time was none of those times and could never be one of those times because it was infinitely more painful than anything even the Daleks could throw at him.

It began with the end of the tea party. He and Rainart had given up trying to track down Annegret when it became evident she had retreated to her quarters and, of course, they had no excuse to leave the party. They _could_ have left, but the Doctor didn't want to get on the wrong side of the Lahnsteins just yet. The throbbing bumps on his head told him that he'd had enough objects thrown at him for one day.

"I think we're in trouble," Rainart remarked as he dumped his teacup into the cheese platter. "What?" he said when the Doctor gave him a look. "It makes cleaning more convenient for the servants when everything's on one easy-to-gather tray."

"Not that I don't approve of your thoughtfulness, but I had my eye on the gouda."

"There's much better cheese than gouda."

"I like how it sounds. Gou-da. Gouuuda. Gou_da_." He grinned, but Rainart looked unimpressed. One of the castle cats began lapping up the newfound mixture of tea leaves and dairy products.

"Like I said, I think we're in trouble."

"Why? I don't believe I've violated any common etiquette rules."

"Oh no, you've done wonderfully in that regard. But Baron isn't back yet."

"Eager to get on the trail of nach-_tis_, are you?"

"Not really. It's just, he has a good sense of things, and usually, if he's gone for so long, that means something bad is coming, probably from Elise."

"If it's bad like a tea party, it can't be that bad."

"No, not at all. More like--"

"I know!" Elise clapped her hands together. "Let's play croquet!"

"This isn't right," the Doctor insisted. "Croquet isn't supposed to be invented for another century, and certainly not in Germany."

"What?" Rainart sounded as though someone had announced that they'd delivered the crate of cockroaches to his bedroom and no, it didn't matter that he hadn't ordered any such thing, could he please sign and initial on the line there? "Are you implying this actually becomes a professional sport?"

"Oh, you mean it's not?" He felt his hearts slowing back down at the thought that perhaps this wasn't a temporal violation after all. "But still, it's a century early in the wrong place."

"Maybe people tried to kill it and it kept coming back." Like cockroaches.

"Did your sister tell anyone about croquet at university?"

"No, she didn't think it up until after she came back."

"This is the game with mallets and balls going through hoops on the ground?"

"Oh good, you know it, that means you can take my place." Rainart raised his voice as Elise came over. "The Doctor volunteers! I've explained the rules to him."

"_What?_ No, no, n-- oh hello. Yes, lovely-sounding game, would love to play." He tried to look disapprovingly at Rainart but suspected he just appeared confused, because Elise took him by the hand and started explaining all the rules in painstaking detail. Which was a good thing, it turned out, because some of them were quite different from the ones he knew. That was why, three hours later...

"_SCATTER SHOT!_" Elise screamed, firing a shotgun at her ball. Scatter shot indeed burst forth from the barrel, sending her red ball rocketing toward the next hoop, while the Doctor's ball launched toward the pond but stopped just short owing to the obstructive nature of geese. There wasn't much he could do about this development, however, because even though scatter shot was intended to send the ball into a less dangerous position, and while just about anywhere was safer than in the scope of a shotgun, he didn't think that was what the rules meant, but it was not prudent to argue with anyone who played croquet with guns. There was also Abelerd's comment at the beginning of the game when the Doctor went for the yellow ball:

"No, dear doctor, the men always get black and blue balls in this game. I think Elise meant that as subtle commentary, ha, ha, ha." His comment earned him pursed lips from his wife, but the Doctor suspected he was getting back at her for the Edwynna incident. No doubt Abelerd found the joke much less amusing after Schmetterling sent her first ball off his shin, through the hoop nailed into the trunk of a nearby juniper, and into his black ball, sending it tumbling near a haystack. Her continuation stroke was clean, but somehow his ball ended up inside the hay afterward and play was suspended for ten minutes while Abelerd searched and pricked his finger on a needle instead of locating the ball.

"Look at the time!" the Doctor exclaimed, pointing at the setting sun and trying to ignore the fact that the panicking geese were pushing his ball closer and closer to the water's edge. The yard line for the game was actually drawn through the middle of the pond owing to the fact that one of the hoops was on a floating platform anchored to shore by five meters of string. He did not think a water hazard would make this game more enjoyable. That was before colors exploded across his vision as a spike of pain drove its way through his head, and he woke up on the ground.

Elise let out a cry: "He's regained consciousness! I'm so sorry, but I do remember telling you that during scatter shots, the team partner is allowed to take one extra stroke at the same time."

"Right. Forgot that."

"I'm sure mother is sorry too."

Schmetterling shrugged. "The rules are the rules, and I must thank the Doctor, because without him there to deflect it, I'm sure the ball would've overshot and I'd never have run that hoop."

"Glad to be of service, Frau Lahnstein." If his head swelled enough, all the bumps might run together.

"Anyway, now that you're back up and running, we can finish the game!" Abelerd said. "I do hate losing, and I think our luck's about to turn."

"But it's dark!"

"I, uh, mixed together a substance that can be applied to surfaces," Rainart said, scratching his head, "and it, unfortunately, ah, well, it glows in the dark."

The Doctor bounced up and seized Rainart's coat. "A substantive escape plan would be saluted," he hissed before turning back to the field. Indeed, the balls, hoops and mallets were all glowing green, as were the boundaries, which was one advantage of nightfall. It would make finding the balls in haystacks easier as well. "Do I want to know where you found the glowing substance?"

"Probably not."

"Well, your family's exposure is minimal enough that they shouldn't get radiation poisoning. You, on the other hand, I can't speak for."

"Radiation poisoning? Whatever that is, it doesn't sound good."

"Get me out of here and maybe I'll explain it to you."

Rainart removed the mallet from the Doctor's hands and headed for the castle. "I think we should take a break and find the Doctor some herbs for his headache. It wouldn't be a fair game if one of the players was impaired."

Once they were far enough away, the Doctor admitted that, as he did not sense any radiation in the area, Rainart's discovery was biological rather than radioactive, but it was too late to prevent a lengthy inquiry on the subject that didn't cease until they were outside Annegret's room.

Rainart frowned upon realizing where they were. "When I said we were getting you some herbs, that was to get us away, not to justify you breaking into Great Aunt Annegret's quarters."

"Nonsense, I'm sure she won't mind us dropping by, her favorite nephew and his favorite professor."

"How did you know I was her favorite? Not that the status imparts much special treatment."

"She doesn't seem the type for your average aristocrat."

"Good point. You go in alone."

"What? That'd be breaking and entering!"

"Exactly."

"But you're her favorite!"

"So she'll kill me quickly rather than hang me out the window for crows to eat alive."

"You're exaggerating." The Doctor tried the handle and found it locked.

"How unfortunate. Let's go."

The Doctor removed his sonic screwdriver, waved it across the handle, and opened the door. As he slipped it into his pocket, he winked at Rainart. "Pretend you didn't see that." Cracking the door open, he darted in, and as he expected, Rainart followed him, eyes still on his pocket.

"What do you mean 'pretend you didn't see that'? What is it? How does it work?"

"_Shhh_, you're in your aunt's room!"

"_Damn you!_" Rainart shut the door with the handle turned to make the action as quiet as possible. As he let the bar swing back into its regular position, the Doctor tiptoed over to a large mesh rack that extended along one entire wall.

The room was an antechamber, about thirty square meters in size and wider than it was long. The ceiling was vaulted, and herbs hung from the rafters. He recognized several bundles of lavender, along with some sage and dill. It was too dark for him to identify the ones farther from the window. There was no sign of _Galæsia nachtis_, but he didn't expect her to leave samples on the table.

"Guard the door!" the Doctor said.

"Which one?"

"The one with your terrifying aunt behind it."

"Um." The Doctor didn't understand what Rainart's hesitation was about until he realized that there were not two but three doors in the room. One was for the hallway and another, the bedroom, but where did the third lead? Rainart chose one at random and pressed his ear to it. "I think the other one's a store room."

"Do you hear snoring?"

"No."

"Maybe you should check the other door."

"Maybe you should hurry and get what you need!"

"Fine, fine." The Doctor set to work, but Rainart's eyes followed his every move. "Would you stop staring?"

"That combination isn't a painkiller."

"I thought you weren't a naturalist."

"I've read books."

"Of course. Oooh, valerian, very good. And kava kava? What does your aunt need kava kava for?"

"Maybe she likes to shake it shake it."

"That was inappropriate."

"Can we go?"

"Make yourself useful and find some chocolate. I need hops, do you see any hops?"

Rainart performed a short hop on his way to the cupboard.

"No, not like rabbits. More like banana daiquiris."

"We've got chocolate."

"Good, grab some, and I'll check the store room for things that aren't bunnies."

"Wait! I'm not sure if that's--"

"You'll never get anywhere in life if you don't take risks."

The Doctor threw open the door to discover Annegret in bed, completely naked save for the sheet below her waist and the maid-shaped lump it covered, her back arched and her bosom heaving, every wrinkle on her body stretched taut as she cried: "Yes! _Yes_! Just like when we were young! _YES!_"

Slamming the door shut, the Doctor confronted Rainart's dropped jaw. "You win some, you lose some. I think we can do without hops."

Their next stop was the kitchens. The staff had not recovered from afternoon tea yet, so there were still pots of boiling water available. The Doctor threw in the herbs and started mixing.

"Are you planning to drug my family?"

"I thought a little nap would be the perfect opportunity for us to slip away because, if I'm right, and I'm usually right, there's still dinner to come after croquet."

"That is brilliant." Rainart started scribbling on a pad he had in his pocket. "What's the recipe?"

The Doctor snatched the pad out of his hand and put it in his pocket. "I don't think that's a good idea. Extraordinary circumstances and all that."

"They're just herbs."

"Kava kava's just an herb."

"That's different."

"No, it's not."

"Did you just throw in catnip?"

"Where's the chocolate?" Rainart handed over a pouch. The Doctor pulled the drawstrings and peeked inside. "Cocoa powder. Perfect. It'll mask the other tastes." He poured out the entire packet.

Back on the croquet field, Adalie had parked Waldo over the next hoop to prevent Schmetterling from making her shot. She didn't dislike her daughter-in-law--she just liked her son more.

"Look what the servants cooked up!" The Doctor brandished his tray of cups as one might a shield bearing the heroic dead. One could never be too overdramatic when trying to sell drugs. "Not only did it help my head, but it's supposed to stimulate health and protect against chills. Everyone should try some, but mind the taste."

"I thought you put in chocolate," Rainart whispered.

"Watch and learn."

Elise took the first cup and took a sip. "It's not that bad, Dr. Smith. It tastes like chocolate."

"In that case, I'll try some as well," Abelerd said. General murmurs of agreement followed as he downed an entire cup in one gulp and pronounced it excellent. "Whenever did the servants learn to make something so incredible?"

"I believe it's one of Annegret's recipes." The Doctor noticed Rainart shudder at the name and thought it was good he hadn't witnessed the event, only overheard it. For his part, the Doctor felt everyone deserved to be happy, and so long as Lysanne the maid wasn't being pressured into anything, he wished them all the best. On the other hand, he had shut the door rather loudly, so maybe he was biased in hoping they'd been very, very distracted.

"It's your stroke," Elise said.

"One second. Here you go, other Adalie. Is that everyone? Good." The Doctor hit setting ninety-thousand, two hundred ten on the sonic screwdriver and the entire family hit the ground before he'd finished speaking. "Sonic waves targeted to enhance the human metabolism, causing the herbs to work faster," he explained to Rainart. "Cricket is so much better."

"But what about Baron? He's still in the woods, and I'm more worried about guns than croquet mallets."

The Doctor grinned. "How would you like to ride in a time machine?"

**----------------------------------**

"Absolutely not!" Susan snapped. "We both know the forest search is nonsense, so we are not participating."

"Shouldn't we try to keep up appearances?"

"We are stupid cousins from Bavaria; no one cares what we do, and if you want to be productive about the murder, we might as well use this time to investigate _actual_ leads."

"But we're supposed to stop the feud! What if they run into some poor Lahnsteins in the forest and kill them?"

"The forest is a vampire's domain. Let him deal with it."

"Give me the dice."

Susan scowled but handed the dice and tray over. "What do you want them for?"

"To find out where we need to go," he replied, grabbing her arm.

"Oh no you--"

The world blinked, and they materialized in the black forest. Unfortunately, they were ten feet in the air above a lake. Screaming, they plunged through the mirror-smooth surface, which didn't stay mirror-smooth for long, but Susan was a strong swimmer and brought them back to the surface before either started breathing water. He was too busy spluttering to hear Susan's words the first time around, but then he heard, right in his ear, "Where's the dice?"

"Don't worry, they're right here!" Adric raised his arm so that the tray flashed in the moonlight. The dice sat on the surface as though glued there, and he saw Susan breathe a sigh of relief. She began towing him toward land, and he kicked to speed up their movement. By the time they reached land, his muscles were burning, and he couldn't imagine how Susan could stand there, barely breathing hard, while he flopped on the ground and gasped like a fish out of water. He made a mental note to do more full-body exercises when with the Doctor. There tended to be a lot of running and little else with him.

"You should get up. There are frogs around."

Adric turned his head and saw a mottled brown frog sitting near his shoulder.

_Ribbit_, it croaked. The tongue shot out and grabbed hold of the spatial die. The white sphere vanished inside its mouth, and the frog teleported three feet away. Such a shift in surroundings didn't seem to phase it much since it then started hopping away, disappearing and reappearing within a five meter radius at the end of each leap.

"_Grab it!_" Susan cried, throwing herself across the ground to cut off the amphibian's water escape. She nearly fell on it, but it rematerialized just out of reach. Adric scrambled through the mud and once wrapped his fingers around its leg, but the skin was too slippery and the frog jumped off into the forest.

They were in hot pursuit when gunfire stopped them in their tracks. The frog was in the process of leaping off a log. One moment it was there, the next moment the air was full of blood and frog bits flying in every direction. Adric spotted a glimmer of white and reached out, catching the die mostly on instinct as it soared past. He grinned as Karin stepped out from a blind camouflaged amidst some bushes.

"I assumed you wanted the frog dead for some reason," she said.

"Well, just caught, actually, but that worked," he said, wondering whether to feel guilty about the animal's untimely demise.

"You should be careful. There are Lahnsteins all over the forest."

"Why? Did one of them get murdered too?"

"No, but I overheard Abelerd and Edmund talking. Apparently, they fell asleep while playing some game of Elise's--I don't blame them one bit--and when they woke up, Rainart was missing. They think some professor from Cologne inspired him to try to negotiate an end to the feud so they want to stop him before he can. It's dishonorable to talk things over, you see, almost like engaging in barter. Only women are allowed to negotiate, and that's only behind everyone's backs while pretending to hate each other."

"Ah, it's like being in Sto Helit again," Susan said.

Adric glanced at Susan. "Wait a minute. You've understood everything everyone says so far!"

"I told you it was _similar_ to a dialect I know. The rest is guesswork, but I hardly want to botch the language. Give me a week."

"Get down!" Karin pushed them into the blind and drew a canvas cloth over the entrance. This was problematic because the blind had only been designed for use by Karin and her dress, so with three people inside, Adric and Susan were in danger of suffocation by fabric, and he didn't want to move around too much in case his actions were construed as inappropriate.

"Yodel-ay, yodel-ay, yodel-ay-hee-hoo!" someone sang as two figures moved past.

"Stop singing! You might attract wolves!"

"Nonsense. I can't believe your father actually asked for my help."

"Well, he's desperate, and only men can search the forest."

"Then you, my dear, should not be with me."

Karin relaxed. Adric could tell by the way her dress deflated. "It's just Siegbert and Edwynna," she said, stepping outside. "Edwynna got disowned for marrying Siegbert, so they're not really part of the feud."

"Stop!" Siegbert cried upon hearing her voice. "If you are wolves, I'm warning you to stay back!"

"It's Karin Schneider." She looked over at Adric and Susan trying to make their way out of the blind and bringing down half the walls in the process. "And two Bavarian cousins."

Edwynna burst out from behind a tree and knocked Karin over in her rush to embrace her. "I am so glad to see you! I was convinced we would be eaten!"

"Wolves rarely attack people." Karin wrinkled her nose at Edwynna's close proximity but gave her a pat on the back anyway.

"Tell that to poor Beatrice. She saw her calf get eaten alive before Siegbert could chase the pack away with his dogs."

"You exaggerate," Siegbert said. "I am positive the calf was only half-eaten while alive."

Adric groaned as his stomach protested. It'd be a miracle if he kept a single meal down while here.

"In any case," Siegbert continued, "we are looking for Rainart von Lahnstein. It would be appreciated if you would not shoot him if you see him. _YODEL-AY-HEE-HOO!_"

Everyone clapped their hands over their ears as he let out three piercing yodels in a row.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Karin asked, pulling at her dress. Somehow, despite traveling through brush, hiding in the blind, and getting knocked down by Edwynna, the dress remained an unblemished pink.

"Rainart is a good friend of ours. If he hears me, he will come."

"My dear, that's so clever!" It became Siegbert's turn to get tackled by Edwynna.

Karin put away her gun and used both hands to waft air toward her face. "Does anyone else smell smoke?"

"Oh, yes," Siegbert pointed back toward the Schneider castle. "There was a small campfire going back there. Gypsies, I assumed, so Edwynna and I went to investigate because we of course love gypsies, but there was no one there! So, of course, it is a hazard, having an unwatched fire burning like that, so I put it out."

"We're half a mile off any road," Karin said. "Why would any traveler be out here?"

"Perhaps you could take us back there?" Adric suggested.

"Yes, it is not far." Siegbert jogged away, singing all the while.

Once they found the remains of the fire, it became clear that it had not been intended for warmth or light at all. Rather, an abandoned lantern sat beside a pile of ashes. Adric pushed his fingers through the blackened remains and found one small piece of paper that had not been destroyed. "Someone was burning paper?"

Karin took the scrap from him and moved to a spot where moonlight shone through the canopy. She squinted at the paper, then gasped: "This has grandfather's name on it!"

"There's something else!" Adric said. Tugging, he pulled a piece of burlap out from some rocks that had been used to anchor the contents of the fire. The cloth was tougher than paper and had mostly survived. The ash was difficult to dislodge, but he made a reasonable effort, shaking the fabric until Edwynna's scream distracted him. "What's wrong?"

Goosebumps went up on his arms when she pointed at him, but then he looked down and saw the reason for her terror. Emblazoned in white on the cloth was a grinning skull.

Karin's jaw dropped. "I recognize that from the papers."

"What is it?" Adric asked.

"It's..." her voice trailed off. "But no, that can't be. That would mean..."

"What?"

"You realize whoever set this fire was trying to destroy evidence."

"You think this is related to your grandfather's murder?"

"His name is right here." She waved the scrap of paper at him. "But that is a pirate symbol. That's the flag of the Pirate Lord of the Mediterranean."

"You're saying your grandfather was a pirate?"

"I don't know. I have no other reason to think so, but we find grandfather's body and within the hour, someone is burning a pirate flag with documents containing his name? There has to be some connection."

Adric turned to Susan. "And you said we shouldn't investigate the forest."

"Has it occurred to you that the murderer might have set the fire and is still around?" She smiled sweetly.

Adric yelped and spun around, setting off another fit of screaming from Edwynna, which for some reason caused Siegbert to resume yodeling. Karin sighed. "We'd better get back to the castle. Edwynna, stop screaming! There might be a murderer on the loose"--Edwynna screamed even louder, so Karin fired her shotgun into the air, causing immediate silence--"so you should head home. I'm sure Rainart is fine, and I can tell you for a fact that there aren't any Schneiders in the castle for him to find even if he wanted to talk to one."

"But if the Schneiders aren't in the castle, then that makes them easier to find," Siegbert said. "In fact, they--"

In the distance, a man's voice boomed: "Raoul Schneider!"

"Abelerd von Lahnstein!" replied a surprised voice, not quite as loud as the first.

_BANG!_

**----------------------------------**

White moths swarmed Baron von Lahnstein the moment he broke into the dirt clearing by the stream. Their wings caught the moonlight, glowing like fairies, but he paid them little attention. A figure perched on the rocks beside the water, back turned to him and ears deafened by the gurgling. At least, he _shouldn't_ be able to hear him approaching--Elise and Rainart used to place bets on how many of the semi-feral castle cats he could catch in one day--but Huey Schneider always knew when he was there.

Sure enough, Schneider tilted his head fifteen degrees when Baron came within striking distance, just enough to let him know he'd been foiled yet again. Not that it mattered. Crouching behind him, Baron wrapped his arms around Schneider's chest and rested his chin on his shoulder. "So what was it this time? My reflection in the water?"

"No, you were quite good about that." Baron felt a slight shiver run down Schneider's neck as he began nibbling on his right earlobe.

"Then how?" he asked, his breath hot against his cheek as he planted kiss after kiss, drawing ever closer to Schneider's lips.

"It was--" he paused long enough to push Baron away. Twisting around, he managed to get a firm grip on his shoulders, and Baron let himself be thrown against the ground. Straddling him, Schneider's eyes flashed. "It was the moths. They flocked to your lantern before you blew out the flame. Too easy, Lahnstein."

Baron grabbed his collar and pulled him closer. "You don't like it when I wear moth repellant," he growled. Schneider's lips were cold, indicating he'd been out quite some time, but heat radiated from his chest as Baron worked his hands into his shirt.

"This is wrong," Schneider panted between kisses.

Baron responded by lowering his attention to Schneider's neck, causing the man to let out a soft moan. There was always some objection when they were together; it wasn't worth his breath to respond, not when there were other things he could use it for.

Schneider shook his head. "It's like, I like you like a moth... likes... fire... oh _god_."

"You like _that_." Schneider's hands went straight for Baron's pants, but he intercepted them and forced them away. Deciding to push his luck, Baron tried to swing Schneider off, but he wouldn't budge. He should've been a wrestler.

"You know, I was just reading up on the straddle this morning." Schneider bent down and kissed both his hands. "It's amazing what you can learn in the library."

"I didn't know your parents had books like that."

"Oh, you know us merchants brought too high, always possessing things we shouldn't have." He pushed down with his hips, and Baron conceded the battle, letting Schneider put his hands wherever he liked. "Did you know 'straddle' is actually a financial term?"

"Really..." As far as Baron was concerned, the words coming at him were just sounds, which, when it came to Huey Schneider, was probably a good thing.

"Yeah. It's an option consisting of a _put_,"--and there was definitely some placement going on, especially with Schneider's right hand--"and a call,"--and now the left hand, and--"_combined_, both at the same current market price,"--which must be a good deal, whatever that meant,--"and for the _same... specified... period._" Cold air rushed against Baron's skin as Schneider stripped him in one swift motion.

"That sounds good," Baron murmured, wrapping one leg around Schneider's. At that moment, the wind picked up, and a frenzied whirlwind of leaves and branches distracted Baron from the things Schneider was doing to his body. "Hold on, something's wrong."

"No one knows about this place."

The sound of a door opening caused Schneider to throw himself backward and tumble into the stream. Baron looked up to see a large blue box towering over him. At its entrance stood a man with crazy hair who looked more embarrassed than Baron felt. It was clear he was neither a Schneider or a Lahnstein, and as such, Baron couldn't care less that he'd been caught in flagrante, despite the man's... _unique_ method of arrival.

"I'm terribly sorry!" the man exclaimed, dodging back into the blue box. As the door closed, Baron distinctly heard him say, "That's _twice_ today."

The whirlwind started up again, and a light atop the box began flashing as it faded into thin air, leaving behind only the dying sound of _vworp-vworp_.

**----------------------------------**

Before Rainart could figure out the monitor controls, the Doctor pulled several switches with more force than he needed and set the TARDIS through the time vortex again. "Ah, settings not quite right. See? I was right in not letting you go out first."

"Twice today? Twice what today? _You drove into Aunt Annegret's room?_" Rainart's head looked ready to explode.

"Your brother wouldn't happen to have dark hair, would he?"

"Yes, Baron's the only one whose looks take after father's. If I was more petty, I'd say that was the reason I got passed over as heir, but I know that's not the reason. Wait, why? Did you run into Baron? _You ran into Baron sleeping with Lysanne?_"

"_Stop speaking in italics!_"

"_Sorry!_"

"It wasn't Lysanne."

"But you were in the forest."

"Possibly..." The Doctor tried very hard to look fascinated by the dials in front of him, but this did not deter Rainart.

"_It was a Schneider?_"

"ITALICS!" the Doctor screamed, flapping his arms.

"ULA SCHNEIDER!"

The Doctor froze mid-flap. "Who?"

"Straight black hair, pale skin, fingernails that can slice French bread."

"Oh. Mmm, sure, why not?" With all the weirdness going on, the Doctor decided it was better not to rock the boat any further. Drugging Rainart's entire family was enough for the day.

"I knew it! I knew it! It's like that English play about the crazy Italians. I once argued that all feuds end this way because love and hate are two sides of the same coin but none of my friends would believe me. What do you think?"

"I think love and hate are very different emotions."

"Do you have a mortal enemy? You must, traveling through time and space and all that. Think about it."

"Well..." The Doctor shifted on his feet. "...there's this Time Lord called the Master, but I wouldn't say I hate him."

"Does he hate you?"

"Maybe." Did he? The Doctor liked to think they had extremely divergent viewpoints that happened to clash every once in a while. Different methodologies and all that. On the other hand, he'd been quite vehement the last time they met. And there'd been that argument during the Time War when the Doctor might have said a few nasty things about his goatee. Surely he hadn't lost it for that reason? The Doctor remembered thinking a Dalek death ray had burned it off, but the look could also have been the result of a hasty and angry shave. "No, absolutely no way," he amended as Rainart studied him.

"Think about it."

"_I don't want to think about it!_"

"Who's panicking now?"

The Doctor swiveled a knob and caused the TARDIS to lurch to a halt, sending Rainart flying across the room and through the door that the TARDIS decided to open. A second later and the young man screamed: "OH MY GOD!"

"Not Annegret's bedroom," the Doctor pleaded to the console. He yelped when a bullet ricocheted off the central column and tunneled through the tip of his sneakers.

Rainart ran back in as a second shot splintered wood off the doorframe. "SCHNEIDERS IN THE FOREST!"

As the door closed, the monitors lit up. "Isn't that your father?" the Doctor noted. "What time is it?"

Rainart kicked the chronometer. "You've taken us forward four hours!"

"Oops. They must be searching for you."

He turned the sound on. "That was Rainart!" someone said from off screen.

Abelerd von Lahnstein lowered his rifle and squinted at the blue box. "It may have been. Well, that means he's not in your castle."

"That's Raoul Schneider." Rainart pointed as the Doctor swiveled the camera over to get both people on screen. 

"He'd better not be," Raoul replied. "If that problem's solved, then we might as well get on with it."

"Agreed, but you fired the customary warning shot, so I get to set the duel rules."

"What?" The Doctor frowned. "They're not curious about the big blue box that appeared out of nowhere?"

"Nothing can stop a duel once it's in progress. It's very single-minded. From what they've said, I'm guessing they initiated _les règles des rencontres_: if opposing families meet on neutral ground and possess weapons, one party may fire a gun or brandish a sword to commence a duel. If both parties decline to do so, they may continue peacefully. The precedent is binding for one day, and all subsequent challenges within twenty-four hours on neutral ground are null and void provided both original parties can verify the time at which they met and parted peacefully."

"I've never heard of such a rule."

"Someone's great-great-great-great-parent or something made it up."

"Is there a manual or something? _The Idiot's Guide to the Lahnstein-Schneider Duels_?"

"No, we're expected to memorize the rules by age four."

"Your families are insane!" At that moment, newcomers crowded the screen as Siegbert and Edwynna appeared with a girl in a massive pink dress and a woman with autonomous hair. "And you've got spectators on call!"

"That's Karin and Susan Schneider. Susan's the strange cousin I told you about."

"I see." The Doctor turned away to check more readings. The tracking told him the signature from Singapore was somewhere close by but not in the immediate vicinity. "Well, we're not really where we should be. Don't you think we ought to _try_ to break up the feud? That's your family out there. Well, three of them, anyway."

"I told you, nothing short of new family members can stop a feud. Speaking of new family, I wonder where Susan's brother is. I still can't remember his name; that's going to bother me the whole night..."

"But what if someone dies?"

"No one's died for decades. Come on, let's get moving."

**----------------------------------**

Adric's foot was stuck. Somewhere between the clearing with the fire and the clearing with the Germans shooting each other, he'd stepped into a tangled mess of aboveground tree roots and hadn't been able to get out. By the time he thought to yell, other voices had risen to drown him out. On the upside, that meant the gathering was nearby, possibly just out of sight. On the downside, that meant the shooting was nearby, possibly just out of sight, and that was a major concern considering two additional shots had fired just before he fell. That had been followed by voices but he'd been busy trying to free himself and hadn't paid attention. That was apparently a mistake, because in the distance, Raoul now yelled: "You can't do that!"

"The rules mandate a minimum of three," Abelerd replied. "There are three of you."

"What are they up to now?" Adric muttered as he tugged at his ankle one more time. The roots creaked but showed no sign of yielding. A light breeze started up, which given that it was the middle of the night, meant that the temperature went from cold to freezing. "Great, at least I'll freeze before I get eaten..."

He was taken out of his thoughts by the reverberating sound of a TARDIS disappearing, and he almost strained his neck to stare in the direction of the voices, wondering whether his ears were playing tricks on him. Surely if the TARDIS had appeared and disappeared, someone would've noticed, but the arguing continued without pause.

"Susan doesn't count! She's a cousin." 

"We cancelled the duels this afternoon to welcome her into the feud!" Abelerd countered. "If you don't consider her eligible, then the cancelled duels must be fought tomorrow!"

"But she doesn't even understand directions."

"She can run, can't she? By shooting gallery rules, only one target needs to have a gun. In this case, you have two."

Shooting gallery? That did not sound good. "WAAAAAAAAAAIT!" he screamed at the top his lungs.

After a pause, Karin said, "That's Adric. I'll go get him."

"I don't think you can get me out of this," he said when she arrived. "I mean, I've tried pulling as hard as I can and _oh my god what are you doing?_"

The root released him when she fired, shattering the wood and sending splinters flying past his face. He barely had time to shield his face with his arm, and several shallow scratches leaked blood across the back of his hand when he lowered it. "I guess that works," he said doubtfully.

"Come on, you're not going to let your sister get shot at, are you?"

"Of course not." In truth, his intention had been to get someone to help him, not to remind them that there was someone who could replace Susan in whatever constituted a shooting gallery duel. She was, after all, capable of freezing time, whereas he had no special abilities to speak of, unless it was to calculate exact probabilities of where the bullet might be so he knew the locations to avoid. Probably. Maybe. "Wait, I thought only men dueled."

"A shooting gallery is different," Karin replied, and Adric noticed there was a spring to her step. "I've always wanted to participate in one, but what are the chances of so many people meeting in the forest?"

"So it's a forest-based duel?"

"I suppose you could do one in town, but people wouldn't appreciate it. You need a lot of free-standing obstacles that are taller than a person."

Once Abelerd saw them, he brightened. "Well, that solves your problem. Adric is certainly eligible to participate."

"That he is!"

_No, I'm not!_ he wanted to yell, but Susan winked at him, so she must have something in mind. Out loud, he said, "What are the rules?"

"Since Abelerd and I met on neutral ground, we weren't obligated to challenge," Raoul said. "But I chose to do so."

"Great," Adric said in a flat voice, not surprised in the least.

"Indeed. As a result, Abelerd is allowed to put my family at a disadvantage due to my antagonism."

"Even better." Adric glanced at Susan. She winked again, and he began thinking she might have something in her eye.

"The shooting range, therefore, is what it sounds like. The three of us take positions at one hundred, two hundred, and three hundred yards from Abelerd. We then run through the trees as fast as we can while he tries to shoot us."

"_WHAT?_"

"No, no, no, don't worry. That's not all. We only need to run fifty yards, and if we make it without getting shot, we're allowed to maneuver into position and fire back."

"I don't have a gun!"

"Well, technically, I'm the only one who should have a gun, so that's all right."

"That is not all right! I demand a shield instead of a gun!"

"I don't think that's covered in the rules."

"Yes, it is," Abelerd replied. "He's allowed one as long as he doesn't have to leave the shooting grounds to retrieve it."

Adric threw himself at Susan and pulled the tray out of her bag. "This'll do fine."

"All right," Raoul said, looking slightly stunned. Everyone, even Susan, had taken a step back at his sudden movement, but they appeared to be recovering their composure. "One last thing: the duel lasts three runs. However, after the first run, the members of the shooting gallery may shoot back while running if they choose to do so, but that forfeits their right to take the shot at the end of the run. It is a tradeoff between firing as many times as you want while running or firing once in a position of your choice."

"And what am I supposed to do, throw the tray at him?"

"If you must," Karin said, rubbing her hands together. "Are you ready?"

"You're sure in a rush to get started."

"Doesn't it sound _fun_?"

"It sounds terrible!" He turned to Susan for support, but she shrugged, and when he turned around, the two Schneiders were gone. "Great, just great," he muttered. Even better was when Karin yelled, "I've taken 300" followed by Raoul staking out 200 yards.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" Adric shouted back.

"It would not be honorable to fire back from 100 yards!" Raoul replied.

If he remembered his TARDIS history lessons, guns in this era couldn't hit anything beyond a hundred yards anyway, which put him on the border between life and death while everyone else was safe. To add to his concerns, the path before him was filled with bushes and rough undergrowth of the sort that'd ensnared him minutes before. He could barely see anything ahead in the darkness, but at least the tray was large enough that, combined with the shrubbery, most of his body would be covered. And Death's traveling gear was surely bullet proof, right? Adric was vaguely aware that there was a flaw in this logic, but the pressing circumstances did not permit him to examine it.

"THREE-TWO-ONE-GO!" Abelerd yelled despite no one declaring double-time.

"WHAT?" Surprised by the sudden start, Adric nearly tripped at the starting line. A bullet slammed into the tree behind where he'd been as his startled cry gave away his location. 

After a few more lurching steps, he regained his balance and put up the tray without daring to look away from the ground before him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Raoul running almost in time with him. The glimpses he got of the man between passing trees showed his arms wheeling in wide circles as he ran with wild abandon, screaming at the top of his lungs. The rifle in his hand spun completely out of sync with the rest of his body, and Adric winced every time the barrel pointed at him.

There was no sign of Karin, however, and he was beginning to think she'd finally gotten trapped because of her gigantic dress when a flash of pink showed that she was running in the opposite direction, having started on the other side of the gallery. Shots continued to ring out at a rate of about one every three seconds, but given the lack of exploding foliage nearby, Adric guessed he was no longer the target.

Right after he thought that, the tray exploded at him, the outer edge crumpling as the center bulged and twisted. The force of the strike threw him sideways just enough that he lost his balance. He managed to hop behind a tree before he fell, but he lay there and refused to get up once he was on the ground. Moments later, Raoul tip-toed past and put a finger to his lips.

"You made it!" he whispered, indicating that Adric had completed the first fifty-yard dash. "Now you just have to head back and do it again! Atta boy!"

Adric made a rude gesture he remembered seeing his brother use once as Raoul disappeared into the darkness to take his shot at Abelerd. Picking himself up, he leaned against the tree to catch his breath and inspected the damage on the tray. The bullet was still wedged in the crater it'd created. A few thumps knocked it loose but otherwise failed to improve the overall condition of the tray. The entire surface was bent, and he spared a thought to how that would affect future dice rolls before concentrating on calculating the probability of it blocking a second hit. Based on the thickness of the bottom and the damage the first shot had caused, he guessed it could stand a second bullet but no more.

He was about to make the dash again when he remembered that Raoul was trying to shoot Abelerd. If he timed it right, maybe the man would be too distracted to fire at him. Peering around the edge of the tree, he tried to make out any human shapes, but he couldn't even tell where he'd started from, and branches blocked his view of Abelerd's most likely direction.

"_Moooo_." A wet nose nudged his back, right between the waistline of his pants and the bottom of his shirt.

"Eeeew!" he cried. Spinning around, he batted at the cow that had appeared out of nowhere and succeeded in sticking his hands into her mouth. The cow lowed and pushed against him, toppling him over. As he fell, the tray slipped out of his grip and clattered into the underbrush several meters away.

Another tree was close by to his left, so he scrambled to it and hoped the cow wouldn't follow. However, it was already occupied by Siegbert, who hushed him. "We are here to help you!" he said in a whisper that was louder than his normal voice.

"Uh..." Adric said as Edwynna appeared behind the cow and waved at him, a huge grin plastered across her face. Now that he thought about it, they hadn't been there when Karin dragged him into the duel. "Where'd you guys go?"

"Don't shoot me daddy!" Edwynna yelled before dashing to join them at the tree. They jostled about for the best spot until the other two remembered Adric was the only one in danger of being shot and moved to stand on either side of him. Once she was in place, she leaned over and whispered, "We heard about the duel and since you're from Bavaria, that's about the same as being disowned, so I figured you didn't deserve to be shot at."

"Yes." Siegbert nodded, and his bells jingled in agreement. "And it just so happened that Beatrice followed us into the forest."

"I don't see how that helps me," Adric replied.

"Well, you see--" Edwynna began, but she was cut off by the two successive gun shots Adric had been listening for, and not daring to wait any longer, he bolted with the tray held over his chest. "Wait!" Edwynna cried, but Siegbert grabbed her before she could leave the safety of the tree.

"We will meet him on the other side," Siegbert said.

Despite his course of action, Adric was interested in hearing what their plan was, and he tilted his head to the side to try to hear their conversation. As a result, he ran straight into a branch, getting smacked in the face and falling flat on his back. All the breath was knocked out of him, and he lay on the ground panting until Beatrice's tongue joined the stars floating across his vision.

"_Auuurrggghh_!" he cried. Abelerd fired in response, which caused the cow to moo and step on his foot.

"Don't fire, daddy, you'll hit Beatrice!" Edwynna screamed. "Poor girl," she added, patting the cow on the head, but the incident having been more than three seconds ago, Beatrice had already forgotten about her panic and started nibbling on Edwynna's hair. Unfortunately, Beatrice had also forgotten she was still standing on Adric until he gave her a sharp kick.

"_Moooo_." The cow glared at him but shifted its weight enough for him to yank his foot away.

Limping to a safe distance, he said, "Now what? I can barely walk!"

"But that was the plan!" Edwynna exclaimed.

"To cripple me? Is there a rule in the code duello that says crippled parties are exempt?"

"No, of course not, silly. With Beatrice here, daddy won't dare fire at you for fear of hitting her!"

"Remind me to be grateful once I take the cast off." Nevertheless, he staggered away, and the next few shots were clearly aimed at Raoul, who was making his second run. No one had thought to tell _him_ not to shoot at Beatrice, though, resulting in a bullet knocking the bell off her collar. Siebert yelped and clutched at his own bells as the three of them ran after Adric, now seeking the shelter of his presence from the Schneiders.

When they reached the end of the fifty yard path, now clearly visible due to the zigzagging line of crushed plants that Adric had left after his first run, Karin was waiting for them. "Oh good," she said. "You made it."

"That's what your dad said," Adric muttered.

"I did my best to end the duel. I mean, being female and not the offending party, I can't actually hit Abelerd, but I did my best to scare him into dad's line of sight. It's not my fault he missed. I mean, even a graze would've ended the duel, but--"

"What? Not that I'm upset it doesn't have to end with someone dying," he added quickly.

"Oh, don't be like that. If every duel ended in death, both our families would've been wiped out ages ago. Or the men, at least, and that'd be a pity, because Rainart is ever so cute--" She let out a tiny gasp and covered her mouth. "I didn't mean to say that! I talk too much when you're around."

Edwynna giggled. "You like the skinny, brainy types? Oh, I knew it! I knew you were lying when you said you were too young to be interested in men!"

Karin sighed. "Don't worry, I'll disarm Abelerd. Just wait a couple minutes before you make your last run."

"How are you going to disarm him?" Adric got no reply as Karin headed back to the two hundred yard line. "You're going the wrong way!"

"Oooh, I love this part," Siegbert said, then added quickly, "Not the shooting at Edwynna's father part, of course. But, well, just watch."

A pair of ravens scattered out of the bushes as Karin burst into the open. "Abelerd von Lahnstein!" she yelled, garnering a blast in her direction. The flash of igniting gunpowder gave away his position. She raised her barrel, sighting him without ever missing a step, and fired. A flash of light, moonlight on metal, was all Adric could see, but it was enough to tell that Abelerd's gun had flown into the air.

Karin reloaded as she ran and let off one more shot as Abelerd's rifle began its downward journey. Sparks flew as the gun blew apart, shattering into three pieces that went hurtling through the leaves. By the time he heard the muffled thuds that indicated they'd hit the ground, Karin had begun the last leg of her run. Edwynna grinned and gave Adric a little shove, sending him off as well.

It seemed everything was resolved when Abelerd cried out, "You coward, Schneider! How dare you let your daughter do your dirty work!" Adric nearly stumbled when he heard the sound of a blade being drawn out of its sheath, the vibration of freed metal ringing through the forest. "We go to first blood!"

With a roar, Abelerd charged, fallen twigs snapping under his footsteps. Adric's heart nearly stopped when he saw a large shape charge in his direction. It didn't take long for Abelerd to come close enough for Adric to see the contorted expression on his face as he let out a long battle cry. There was no escape, not with his foot half-crushed. Adric froze, his voice blending with Abelerd's as he screamed at the blade swinging toward his neck. He raised his arms, trying to block the sword and knowing that his action was a feeble defense. What he'd forgotten was the tray still clutched in his hands, and as his arms came up, the rim caught Abelerd beneath the jaw, slamming his teeth together and sending him flying away.

As Abelerd hit the ground, Adric stared, too stunned to respond after his narrow escape, but when he groaned and showed signs of getting back up, Adric ran up and whacked him over the head, knocking him out cold.

"Oooh, how brave!" Edwynna exclaimed. She and Siegbert started a round of clapping that didn't stop until Raoul and Karin appeared.

"Those were incredible shots," Adric told Karin. "You must be a real math genius to be able to calculate the trajectory of a bullet over such a distance. I mean, it's not like these guns are designed to hit so accurately."

She blinked. "What? I just practice a lot."

Raoul bent over Abelerd and ran a finger under his nose. He showed Adric the glistening splotch on his fingertip. "That drew blood. Congratulations, Adric, you just won your first duel!"

Adric raised his eyebrows. "Yay?"

"Of course," Susan said from behind him, causing him to jump.

Adric grabbed her arm and drew her away from the others, who were trying to revive Abelerd. Once they were out of sight, he poked her in the arm. "Fat lot of use you were. You winked at me! What was your plan?"

"I didn't have one."

"Then why'd you wink!"

"Because Edwynna and Siegbert had one. I heard them sneaking off and talking about getting some cow to protect you."

"You trusted a cow to protect me? Look what it did to me!" He took off his shoe and thrust his foot at her, but he hit her shin, causing pain to shoot up his leg. "_Ow!_" He dropped the shoe, and water sloshed out of it, splashing onto Susan.

"Look on the bright side: you won a duel. That's got to be something to be proud of."

"I was terrified out of my mind! And it was a duel! Who would be proud of winning a duel? It's not like it was something noble or useful like killing a monster."

Susan's eyes widened at his last words, and her hair started to curl.

"What, don't tell me you're afraid of monsters."

Instead of replying, she threw out her hand and snapped her fingers. For anyone else, the motion would've been meaningless, but at that moment, it seemed her skull flashed from under her skin, and Adric recognized the gesture Death had performed aboard the crashing freighter. Flames leapt up about him, and sparks slowed a thousand fold as time came to a standstill, or close enough that it didn't matter. Five minutes, Death had promised him, five extra minutes before he died.

But he hadn't died--Jamie and the Doctor rescued him--but just like last time, reality defied his expectations as Susan snapped a second time and a third, and nothing happened. "Drat," she said.

Three tentacles wrapped themselves around his arms. Dripping with slime and river water, he could only assume he hadn't noticed them poised above him because he was already wet, but that was the least of his worries. Recovering from shock, Susan tried to grab him, but the tentacles pulled back and drew him through the forest. His body plowed a furrow in the ground, throwing up dirt and uprooting small trees as he bounced back and forth, scrabbling for something to grab but unable to gain a secure grip on anything as the surroundings rushed past in a blur.

"HELP ME!" he screamed, gaining a mouthful of spider webs for his efforts. "_Mmphh_, SUSAN! KARIN! HELP!" He knew it was pointless, because he was moving too fast for them to catch up.

"Hold on, Adric!" he heard Susan yell, but her voice already sounded distant.

He struck a tree. When the impact spun him around, he saw he was approaching the river's bank. With a few seconds left, he pressed his forearm against the ground, grinding one of the tentacles into the dirt, but it didn't even flinch. The water drew closer and closer. The last of the forest dwindled away, and then, for one moment, he soared toward the sky, gaining one last breath of fresh air before he plummeted into the Rhine.

**----------------------------------**

The Doctor had been ready to stay a little longer, if only to await the appearance of the mysterious Schneider whose name caused Rainart to have selective amnesia, but Rainart had watched him too closely when he was piloting and managed to hit the right button to send the TARDIS into the time vortex. Granted, he did so in a way that catapulted them straight into the stomach of a brontosaurus, but the Doctor was willing to give him credit for initiative.

"That is why you never, ever touch the controls without my say-so," he scolded.

"I'm so sorry!" Rainart exclaimed.

"Don't worry, no harm done."

"But what if we caused the dinosaur indigestion and made it throw up on a butterfly?"

"What _is_ it with you people and butterflies?"

"Can we go back and take a look around?"

"No, we're going to the Rhine!"

"You didn't even want to be in the Empire in the first place."

"Hush! Look, maybe this will interest you." The Doctor pulled up the energy signature he'd been tracking. "You ever seen anything like this? Of course you haven't, you don't even have computers yet, how would you--"

"They look like sound waves. We played with that once, funneling our voices through a stylus onto a physical medium."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "That's a century early too."

"Maybe my family's composed of geniuses." They looked at each other and thought about croquet. "Each in a unique way."

When he returned his attention to the monitor, he realized Rainart was right. "Now that's interesting..." Spinning a three-layered knob, a speaker at the far end of the room crackled to life. Static whined from one frequency to another as he rotated the rings in different directions.

"...right outside and I hopped inside a cab..." a voice sang at a sort of breakneck pace that reminded the Doctor of himself after too much sugar. The music faded in and out, refusing to let him get a lock on it. "I went out… this Englishman said, 'Fab'... saw me... hot dog stand..."

A whine of feedback cut through the speakers, causing Rainart to throw his hands over his ears. Wisps of smoke rose from the wires, and the Doctor slammed his hand on the circuit breaker. "Whoops, sorry about that. But it looks like you were correct. Good job, Rainart."

"Does that change anything?"

"Nope!" The Doctor kicked the console one last time. "And we're here!"

"Where?"

The TARDIS shuddered, but this wasn't the typical stop-by-slamming-on-the-brakes-and-hitting-a-parking-meter. This was more ran-into-the-Titanic-with-the-shields-down.

"Doctor?" Rainart pointed at a spot that corresponded with their positions to form the third corner of an equilateral triangle, but the Doctor had already noticed.

A robed figure was fluctuating into existence in a manner not unlike the TARDIS materializing. Face shrouded in the darkness, the person's posture did not appear alarmed or even surprised, but the Doctor figured he was surprised and alarmed enough for the both of them. "That's impossible!"

The hood shook as the figure's head turned toward the Doctor. "More visitors?"

"You, but, what?" The Doctor grabbed the monitor and rotated it toward him. According to the readings, the energy signature was coming from the figure, and the TARDIS had locked onto him, materializing around him. "But that can't be! Those energy signatures are too strong to belong to any one person!"

"Doctor!" Rainart yelled, running toward him.

He turned in time to see the robed figure dash up to them, closing the ten meter distance in the space of a second. One punch caught Rainart in the gut, followed by a blow to the head that made him crumple to the ground.

"Whoa, whoa," the Doctor said as the figure approached him. "I think we should discuss--"

The figure grabbed a fistful of the Doctor's hair and slammed him face first into the console.


	30. Chapter 22: Birds of a Feather

**Chapter 22**

**Birds of a Feather**

Lisa Cuddy woke with a pounding headache. Her stomach was doing flips, and she would've diagnosed the combination of symptoms as a simple hangover if she hadn't found bandages when she tried to rub her temple. Working her fingers around her head, she found the right side a little tender.

The events after the tavern were fuzzy. She remembered House dancing atop a copy machine while dressed as a coffee mug with the words: "Caffeine: My Anti-drug" printed on it, and she also recalled boarding a pirate ship and getting chased by giant stone statues while Singapore exploded. Given recent events, she decided to treat both as valid memories until she could get a second opinion.

Although her eyes had adjusted to a lower level of light, the room was still so dim that she could make out few details. The wall was paneled with wood, and she leaned against it as she clambered to her feet. Judging from the fact that she could stand straight--barely, as the roof curved above her head with inches left to spare--she had been lying on a pallet. When she shifted her feet, the bedding clacked, and it felt like reeds wrapped in wool. There were two other beds in the room, probably for Ianto and Gregor. The entire room rocked back and forth, lending credence to the pirate ship memory, and she was glad that she wasn't prone to seasickness.

She was staring straight at the hatch into the room when someone cracked the door open. Even as she threw an arm over her eyes, the light set off waves of stabbing pain in her head, and while she was still processing this new stimulus, the door flew open and three figures crashed into the room, tumbling across the floor and into the wall beside her. They missed her by about two feet, and she leapt aside as they continued struggling, arms and legs thrashing about and knocking her pallet aside.

"What the hell are you doing?" she yelled before clutching her head, instantly regretting the loud reprimand.

The three men paused, and she could now see that Gregor and Ianto had pinned Barbossa against the ground. "Get yer blasted suitors off me before I have them thrown overboard!" he roared.

Cuddy tried her best not to squint as she lowered her hands. "Give me quiet or I'll toss all three of you overboard, and believe me," she added as Barbossa tried to cut in, "I am more than capable of following through with that threat. Now an explanation, please?"

When it became clear that Barbossa would not argue, Gregor and Ianto let go and stood aside. The pirate grumbled under his breath as he brushed himself off.

"Barbossa promised not to disturb you," Ianto explained. "He is not the most savory character, in case you haven't noticed."

"Arr, I promised no such thing," Barbossa said.

"We said, 'Don't go in there until we're satisfied Cuddy is all right,' and you said, 'Fine,'" Gregor replied.

"What fool expects a pirate to keep his word?"

"That's why we had an eye on you," Ianto pointed out.

"You're here for my toothbrush, aren't you?" Cuddy said.

Gregor and Ianto stared at her while Barbossa replied, "Why would I want a worthless thing like that?"

She reached into her bra, and Gregor and Ianto stared even more. When her hand came out empty, she strode over to Barbossa and grabbed him by the collar. "_Where is my toothbrush_?"

"Clearly I had nothing to do with it as I have been kept out of your room until now."

"Give. Me. My. Toothbrush."

Ianto half-raised his hand. "I should point out that since the TARDIS is missing, even if you get back the toothbrush, we have no other toiletries except what Captain Barbossa can or will provide."

"I don't care."

"As lovely as a strong-willed woman can be at times, I am beginning to find this tiresome." With a flick of the wrist, a dagger appeared in Barbossa's hand, and he pressed the tip against her chest. "Let me go."

About ten seconds later, the crew of the _Black Pearl_ was treated to the impressive sight of the woman from Singapore marching their captain out of her bedroom, his hands locked behind him in a tight arm hold, and throwing him over the railing into the sea.

Her explanation to her startled audience: "It's all about leverage." 

-------------------------------------------------------------

It turned out the Persians had brought Cameron's wheelchair aboard when they fled Singapore, and they offered to return it to her. She thanked them and took it, though seeing that her room was at the base of a staircase, she didn't see how it would be much use. Nevertheless, she didn't think it was smart to refuse small kindnesses from her captors.

By the time she returned to her quarters, Olli was awake and rummaging through the chest, presumably looking for something other than clothes. Upon seeing her, he dashed over, causing Kouros to draw his cutlass, but Olli stopped short of the door and didn't even glance at him, which Cameron thought must have taken some nerve. "Cameron!" he exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. They were kind enough to return my wheelchair and help me with my seasickness." She wheeled into the room and waved goodbye. Niki waved back, while Bousseh just gave her a small nod. Kouros replaced his weapon, looking a little chagrined, and shut the door.

"I thought that might be a problem for you." Olli wrinkled his nose. "They put ginger in the milk, but that doesn't go together well."

"You seem to be all right."

"I spent almost five years on cruise liners. They're a lot steadier than this, but I've been on many smaller ships as well. One thing is for certain: I learned how to deal with seasick passengers."

"When you say 'deal with' rather than 'cure,' I'm not filled with confidence."

"Come here." He wheeled her over to the bed and sat behind her on the lower bunk. "The best solution while you're getting your sea legs is to be in the fresh air, but while you're down here, there's a few massages I can try that'll help you relax." His fingers moved over her scalp, working various pressure points.

"I've never been a big believer in homeopathic remedies."

"It's not directly related to seasickness; it just helps distract your mind. The entire condition is, after all, mental."

Her stomach gurgled, but the nausea did seem to lessen, so she tried to relax. It felt nice, and her eyelids were growing heavy when suddenly, she pushed his hands away and wheeled around to face him.

"Something wrong?" he asked, hands still in the air.

"Yes, something's wrong! This isn't a spa or a cruise; we're being held hostage!"

"I kind of guessed that. Do you have an escape plan?"

"Er, no," she admitted.

"You're getting tense again."

"That's beside the point!" 

"We're not going to think of an escape plan if you're seasick and I'm mopping up vomit."

"There is no escape plan! We're surrounded by hundreds of miles of water!"

He frowned. "I don't understand."

"How can you be so calm?"

"Because right now, there's nothing we can do. They're treating us well, so we should watch for an opening to make a run for it, but until then, getting worked up won't help us. You've had some contact with them, why don't you tell me what you've learned?"

"I suppose that makes sense." Cameron sighed. "Well--"

"No." Olli motioned for her to turn around. "You can talk while getting a massage."

She obeyed but remarked, "You're a slave driver, you know that?"

"Yes, 'calm down,' 'talk to me,' 'get a massage,' what terrible things to request." He laughed and started tracing lines through her hair. She was beginning to get drowsy again when a sharp knock on the door made her bolt upright, nearly falling out of her chair. "Sit," Olli reprimanded as he stood to answer.

One of the crew whom she hadn't seen before waited outside. He leaned against a quarterstaff in a pose designed to display his bulging muscles, clothed only by an open vest the color of rusting steel and purple shorts that hugged the half of his thighs that it covered. Oil-slicked black hair fell down his back, glistening even in the dim light below deck, and it struck a contrast against his carefully trimmed beard. A scimitar and an array of daggers hung from the leather belt around his waist, while a strap held a bow and arrows along his back, though she couldn't imagine how he kept the string dry in these conditions. Cameron found the assortment of weaponry disconcerting which, combined with the scowl on his face, made her immediately antagonistic toward him.

"I am Omeed," he said, managing to hold the frown while he spoke.

"I'm Olli," Olli replied, holding out a hand to shake. She couldn't imagine a response more inappropriate than his wide smile.

"I'm Cameron." She waved. "We're the people you kidnapped."

"I'm aware of that." The hint of confusion on his face gave her a twinge of satisfaction.

"I think you were the one who put the bag over my head," said Olli. "Not everyone is as muscular as you. What's your workout routine?"

_What the hell?_ She wondered if Olli was oblivious or devious beyond belief. It was hard to tell when he was dressed like a terra cotta warrior.

Omeed, on the other hand, seemed to take well to the accusation that might be a compliment. "I load the cargo."

"Maybe I can help out next time."

The corsair doubled over laughing and dropped his quarterstaff. "You would get crushed by the empty crates!"

Olli poked him in the chest. "We'll find out, won't we?"

"You're on, skinny man."

"So what brings you to our quarters?"

The scowl returned, which was unfortunate, because he was rather handsome otherwise, in a dirty action hero kind of way. "Bousseh made Sepehr mix a new drink for the seasick one." He threw her a dirty, the-feeling-is-mutual look, at which point she realized that she'd been scowling back at him. He removed a vial and a ceramic mug that had no handle from a pouch at his belt--the one ensconced between the jagged dagger and the one that resembled a corkscrew. The liquid bubbled and fizzed as he poured, generating clouds of water vapor.

"What is it?" she asked. At least there was no ginger.

Olli peered into the cup and inhaled. "Seltzer with a hint of lemon."

"I didn't know Sprite had such a long history."

"Lemons are good for sea journeys," Omeed added. "But it's wasted on her because she'll throw it up anyway."

"If Bousseh's trying to make up for the ginger milk and kidnapping, tell her we want a room upgrade."

"I suppose you'll want shore excursion vouchers as well," Olli said, but then he told Omeed: "A sea view would help her condition."

"I will ask." He thrust the cup at Olli, who brought it over.

When he returned to the door, he picked up the fallen quarterstaff and handed it back to the pirate. "Your staff is very big. Do you think you could teach me to use it?"

Cameron nearly choked on her sip of the new drink, but after a minute of frantic gurgling that saw Olli try to give her the Heimlich, she managed to get it down without spitting it out. "Not wasted!" she gasped at Omeed, thrusting the cup in his direction and nearly spilling it. Olli sighed.

"I'll be happy to make future deliveries if this happens every time," Omeed said. "But if you want to learn the staff, I'm about to go train on the deck. She can't come along."

"Will you be okay?" Olli asked.

"I'll be fine. Go."

Olli bounded out of the room. As the door swung shut, she saw him slide a thin dagger from Omeed's belt and slip it into his tunic. Definitely devious, then.

-------------------------------------------------------------

As the dust settled, Chase lowered one arm from over his head. The explosion had seemed to last forever, roaring over them like a thunderstorm and earthquake rolled in one, its ferocious winds shaking the _Empress_ and pushing her out to sea. A quick peek revealed the ship was still intact and a safe distance from the rocks that had threatened to sink her when they first headed for the cliff. Yellow dust tinged the sky and, alongside the remaining blazes, created an early sunset.

Slowly, limb by limb, he clambered out of the crouch they'd taught at the hospital for use during tornadoes. Looking about the deck, he felt a tad embarrassed that no one else had reacted in the same way, though most had just grabbed the closest fixed object they could find and ended up thrown all over the ship. Only Elizabeth and her first mate remained standing, though their knuckles were white from gripping the wheel. He assumed they had attempted to steer through the blast and were responsible for them remaining above water.

From the looks of it, Jack Sparrow had failed to reach the railing in time, grabbed the netting as he fell, and ended up entangled at the foot of the main mast. All the subsequent flailing trapped him further, but that didn't deter him from continuing, issuing a string of curses all the while. Further down the deck, the priestess he had "captured" lay amid a pile of salted cod. Christian crouched near her, one hand still wrapped around the manrope, and he looked to be searching for something, though he could just be dazed--a trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. Joey, of course, stood beside him and had kept him in place during the chaos.

"Is everybody still aboard?" Elizabeth yelled. "Look around!"

The first mate--from Elizabeth's comment earlier, he guessed his name was Tai Huang--climbed to the crow's nest, treading over Sparrow on his way up. After a minute, he announced: "All accounted for!"

A splash followed his pronouncement.

"No longer all accounted for!"

Somehow, Chase knew it would be someone from his party--no sailor was stupid enough to jump off a steady ship--and sure enough, a quick scan of the deck showed Christian was missing. He dashed to the side of the ship, accompanied by everyone else who had recovered enough to walk. As a result, the ship tilted perilously until Elizabeth shooed away the non-essential personnel.

"Why the hell did he do that?" Chase asked.

"Was it just me," Sparrow said, managing to raise a hand through the weave of the net, "or did he scream 'Norrington!' before he jumped?"

"Norrington?" Elizabeth replied. "Norrington's dead."

And then it hit them. "The skull!" they cried at the same time. Sparrow followed their moment of cohesiveness by requesting: "Will someone cut me loose?"

When Elizabeth drew her sword and approached him, he amended: "No, no, no, not like that!" He yelped as she swung, but the net fell apart in one stroke. "That actually worked quite well. Good job, Elizabeth."

Meanwhile, Chase searched the water for Christian, but other than the foam from his impact, there was no sign of him. "Does anyone have a life preserver?"

One of Elizabeth's crew ran up with a coil of rope as thick as his arm. He threw one end overboard, and Chase saw it was tied in a loop.

"Whoa, wait!" Chase cried. As the rope descended, he saw a shape in the water. Christian broke the surface holding the skull aloft over his head. 

"I got hi-- _umph_!" he said as the rope completed its descent and smacked him in the head, sending him back underneath.

Sparrow staggered up beside Chase, surveyed the scene with a dazed look, and asked: "Is that a shark?"

At first, Chase thought Sparrow was just being dense, but then he followed the direction of his finger--a difficult task considering how much it swayed--and saw a fin slice through the water before submerging. "He's bleeding!" Chase said. Now that he knew what to look for, he saw three other fish approaching the ship.

"Grab the rope! Loop it around your waist!" the crewman urged. Elizabeth motioned for three other men to take hold of the rope, ready to pull at an instant's notice, but Christian kept missing the loop when he reached for it. Chase wondered how hard the rope had hit him.

There had to be some way to help, but Chase wasn't sure how, short of jumping in himself, and he didn't have enough of a death wish to do that. Then he realized the solution. "Of course," he said. "Joey! Fetch!"

The tiger took a flying leap over the railing and plummeted into the water. A little belatedly, Chase added, "And try not to hurt the sharks!" By then, Joey had pushed Christian through the loop. He quickly grabbed hold with his free hand, and the crew began lifting him as the sharks converged. Joey yowled when one of the sharks bit her leg and pulled her under, but she shook it loose and swam to the side of the ship. Slamming her claws into the wood, she climbed up the side and returned aboard before Christian. As the German clambered over the railing and thanked his rescuers, Joey shook like a dog and sent water spraying all over everyone.

"Good tiger-robot." Chase hugged her neck as she ran to him and bowled him over.

"Yes, thank you, Joey," Christian said. "Whoa!" He threw his arms up as Joey got off Chase and headed for him. The tiger skidded to a halt and settled for nuzzling his leg. "And thank you, Chase, for thinking fast."

"You're welcome," Chase replied, but before he'd finished speaking, Elizabeth cut in with: "Are you insane?"

"Yes, were you crazy?" the skull asked. Half the crew fell to their knees when they saw it speak. The other half preferred praying while standing up.

Christian's jaw dropped. "I was saving you!"

"I spent days underwater before I washed ashore. I suspect I'd survive centuries. It was hardly prudent risking your life to come after me."

"Toss him back overboard then," Chase suggested.

Christian gave Chase a confused glance before Norrington quickly said, "That's quite unnecessary!"

Elizabeth sighed. "What's done is done, but don't do it again or we'll set sail without you. Now Norrington, is that really you?"

"I understand that while my skull may not appear to have aged a day, the same cannot be said for the rest of my body."

"I'd like proof of your identity."

"We weren't exactly lovers with intimate secrets known only to ourselves."

"Ooh, I sense bitterness," Sparrow said, and he wasn't exaggerating. For some reason, Chase felt emotions he was sure weren't his own, as though the skull's feelings radiated into the people nearby. Maybe it was a way to make up for the lack of facial expressions. "A lot of bitterness. That confirms it for me."

"How did the British empire nearly stamp out piracy?" Elizabeth asked.

"Let's dwell on that rather than the fact that I saved your life."

"Your reaction is part of the test."

"I see... well, I stole Davy Jones' heart despite the best efforts of Captain Jack and your beloved Will Turner. I gave the heart to Beckett for a pardon, and he used the _Flying Dutchman_ to tame the oceans. Whatever your feelings are about Beckett, you must admit he did the world a favor with regard to the kraken. And then, I realized I was wrong in doing what I did, and I died trying to make up for it."

"Do you think you succeeded?" A softness crept into Elizabeth's voice that Chase hadn't heard before.

"I can't undo the past, Elizabeth, but whether I can live with it, that judgment is in your hands."

Elizabeth nodded. "Welcome aboard, commodore."

Relief had followed her acceptance, while surprise and a touch of happiness accompanied the title. Christian's eyebrows had drawn together as the conversation progressed, and Chase suspected he was wondering whether to hand the skull over or to keep him because giving Elizabeth her dead former suitor would be plain awkward.

"You don't have dead lovers anywhere, do you, girl?" he said to Joey. Everyone looked at him. "Did I say that out loud?" The tiger nodded. _At least I've drawn the awkwardness to myself,_ he thought.

"We should get you a change of clothes," Elizabeth told Christian. "You're dripping wet."

"It seems to happen a lot," he replied.

Chase raised his hand. "Wait! Aren't you going to give course directions?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "We're waiting for someone to find us."

"Then can we explore the island while we're waiting?"

"You think there are survivors?" Even the crew looked doubtful on that one, and nobody wanted to volunteer to return to the island for fear of getting killed. Surprisingly, Sparrow was the one who realized what Chase was thinking.

"The tunnels they arrived through," he said. "We could learn something from them."

"Didn't you come through those tunnels too?" Christian asked.

"Blindfolds, boy, and ear plugs too. An unnecessary addition, in my opinion."

"There's no point," Norrington said. "They seal up the tunnels when they leave to prevent people from learning anything about them. All they leave behind is total devastation."

"How do you know?" Elizabeth gazed at him with suspicion again.

"I'll explain later."

She watched him a little longer but then headed below deck, motioning for Christian to follow her.

"How long will we be waiting?" he asked as they descended. "We have friends who've been kidnapped..." Tai Huang gave an order in Chinese, and the anchor went overboard, which answered _that_ question.

Before Chase could decide his next move, Sparrow grabbed his shoulders from behind and steered him toward the stern. "Since everyone else is busy, how about we examine your captured priestess?"

"Um." Chase recalled Sparrow's comments about the spoils of victory and wondered what to do next. Falling back on years of medical experience, he told Sparrow: "Maybe we should ask Elizabeth." Yes, when in doubt, always appeal to a higher authority and let them deal with it. "I think she'll want to know what we can find out about her abilities."

"Trust me, I know all about her abilities," Sparrow replied. Glancing side to side, he leaned closer when he was sure no one else was nearby and whispered into Chase's ear, "Don't let her bite you."

"Bite me _where_?"

Sparrow took a step back. "Whoa, slow down. Where's your mind going?"

Glancing at the limp figure amidst the scattered fish, Chase became mildly alarmed when he saw she was not quite motionless--the priestess' head moved slightly. "She's awake!" he said. "Can she do anything without being in contact with you?"

But he was talking to thin air. Sparrow was halfway to her already and running as fast as he could. Chase pursued, unsure why the pirate was panicking and screaming the way he was but certain that nothing good could come of it. By the time he arrived, though, Sparrow had picked up one of the salted fish and slapped the priestess across the face with it. She fell back, eyes rolling up, but he smacked her a few more times for good measure before stuffing the remnants of the cod into his mouth.

"Mmm, this is good," he said. "You don't get preserved fish like this in the Caribbean."

"What was that for!"

"Don't let them talk either. She can spell you with a word, and I don't mean anything related to putting the letters 't' and 'u' together. Hmm, I hate to waste a good fish." He stuffed one into the priestess' mouth. "There. Better."

"We're gagging people with fish?"

"First thing you learn as a pirate, mate: make do with what you have."

"I'm not a pirate! I'm a doctor. I'm stuck here because--"

Sparrow shoved a third fish into Chase's mouth, causing him to choke. "If you're on board, you're a pirate, savvy?"

-------------------------------------------------------------

Silence reigned as Pintel and a woman Ianto hadn't yet met hauled Barbossa back aboard. Water sloshed from his boots as he landed on the deck. "You!" He pointed at Cuddy, stomping toward her the moment he hit the ground. Ianto and Gregor edged in front of her, but she pushed between them.

"I can handle this," she said as Barbossa drew his sword. Standing her ground, she didn't blink when he swung at her. At the last moment, she dodged, causing Barbossa to overcompensate for her sudden movement and slice a diagonal gash through Gregor's shirt, missing him only because he had the sense to jump back as fast as possible. She punched the pirate in the groin and caught his arm, wrenching the blade out of his hand and forcing him to the ground.

"I yield, missy, I yield!" Barbossa groaned as she twisted his arm further behind his back.

"You should be ashamed of yourself. I pulled a similar move on Jack in the marketplace."

"He wasn't expecting it!"

Cuddy refused to let go. When Barbossa twisted about to escape her grip, she caught his other hand as well and pushed him toward the side of the ship. "You want to go for another dunk? You might be twice as heavy as me, but my ninjutsu master was four hundred pounds."

Barbossa stomped on her foot. As she cried out in surprise, he took the opening to pull her onto his back and hop, catapulting her over his head and off the ship. "Your master was toying with you!" he yelled. "And guess what? I be a fast learner."

The time taken to haul Cuddy out of the water was half that of Barbossa's dip, a sign that the captain wasn't the only fast learner aboard. However, it took her about the same amount of time to recover before she stalked toward Barbossa, fists clenched and wet hair whipping about her face.

He held up a hand. "Think twice about that. We could go all day, but I be feeling gracious so we should call it even."

"I'll consider it even when you hand back my toothbrush."

"Ah. I thought it'd come to that. Here you go." Reaching into his pants, he extracted the toothbrush from its hiding place near his groin and offered it to Cuddy. Ianto had to admit he was impressed but more than a little disgusted when she accepted the offer without hesitation.

"You're not going to use that, are you?" he asked as she breezed past him to return to their quarters.

"Watch me," she replied.

"No thanks."

They followed her back into the room, where they left the door open a crack to let light through. Gregor jogged ahead of Cuddy and opened the door for her, but she ignored him as she passed. Once inside, she slipped the brush under her pallet and retreated to a corner where she could drip water without getting their possessions wet.

"I don't think it's wise to antagonize our host," Ianto pointed out.

"Really? You think it's a good idea to roll over and beg when we're at the mercy of _pirates_?"

"I don't doubt your diplomatic skills, but there are more subtle ways to indicate we're not easy prey."

"Like what?" Gregor asked. "You told me you could deal with him, and we've been scrubbing floors for the last two hours!"

It was true that their hands were raw from all the work, but keeping a low profile had worked for him at Torchwood, and old habits died hard. "Everyone's been at hard labor. We're lucky the ship didn't sink after that blast."

"No offense, Ianto, but I don't think Barbossa's like Jack," Cuddy said. "Your way isn't going to work with him."

"And if he's anything like House, your way isn't going to work either."

She glared. "I have never tried manhandling House."

"I think she did a great job," Gregor said. "But some of her moves need work."

"You think you can do better?"

"No, but he got you, didn't he? You can practice on me if you want."

"You better not regret when I take you up on that." She returned her attention to Ianto. "I've been unconscious for two hours?"

"I think you would've been fine after the coffee if you hadn't hit your head."

"How did I hit my head?"

"One of the sails swung loose when the mast broke. The halyard was whipping all over the place."

"I got knocked out by _rope_?"

"No." He could tell this wasn't going to end well. "The rope hit Barbossa's undead monkey."

"Named Jack," Gregor added, grinning.

"Which sent the zombie monkey flying into my head?"

"No. The monkey was holding Barbossa's spyglass."

"Which flew out of its hand and struck you," Gregor finished.

"Nobody saw but us," he added quickly.

"But now you've told everybody," Cuddy replied.

"Huh?"

She pointed at the door in time for seven pirates to tumble through after losing their balance while jostling for a good listening spot. More hovered in the background as the others picked themselves up from the floor.

"What are you all doing here?" Gregor snapped.

At the bottom of the pile lay Pintel and Ragetti. A wooden eye rolled across the floor and stopped against Ianto's shoe. He picked it up and returned it, earning a nod of thanks from the skinny pirate. Meanwhile, Pintel was bowing in front of Cuddy and saying, "Ma'am, we were all impressed with you earlier."

"Thank you?" Ianto could tell she was eyeing his sword.

"We were wondering, um..."

Ragetti pushed him aside, eye still in his hand. "We want to learn from you!"

"_Excuse_ me?"

But Pintel nodded, looking just as eager and sincere as his partner in crime. "We all talked and decided we want to know how you can fight like that."

"You were like a cat! Hee-_yah!_"

"Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I have to agree."

Ragetti whooped, setting off a string of cheering that resulted in loud applause from outside. When he caught her eye with a raised eyebrow, Cuddy shrugged and followed the crowd onto the deck. As they departed, Gregor put his hand over Ianto's shoulders and winked. "You got to admit, she did a hell of a lot better than you."

-------------------------------------------------------------

Elizabeth left Christian in her quarters with a towel and a pail of fresh water. He handed Norrington's skull to her before she left, and she nearly dropped him. Now, as she slid the door shut, she found herself in the empty hall with the skull of a man she might have married.

"If it helps, I find this just as awkward as you do," he said. The movement of his jaw felt weird against her palm, like a small animal scrabbling to escape her grip.

"It's not awkward," she replied. "It's just... unexpected."

"Far be it for me to question what you find normal. You've seen more than me, probably been through more too." She sensed wryness from him, suppressed but obvious enough for her to get the message.

Tai Huang's quarters were nearby, and she entered, setting Norrington onto his writing desk. She breathed easier when he was out of her hands, but she kept her face expressionless, assuming he couldn't sense _her_ emotions. Sinking into a chair so their eyes--eyes and eye sockets, anyway--met, she said, "I do appreciate what you did. I'm sorry if I was harsh."

"If our positions were reversed, I would not believe you were Elizabeth. You're different. You're the pirate king, and somehow that's justification for leaving behind the woman you used to be."

"_Losing Will_ is the justification!" She pushed the chair away and stood, taken aback by her own vehemence.

"You still have his heart locked away in your quarters, do you not?"

"And I will be there, every ten years, waiting for him, no matter what."

"Unless you die."

"I will never be his Calypso."

"Rather, you will die at sea and break his heart instead of stab it--is that so much better? I speak as one who has endured both, and given the choice, it is the latter I would prefer to live through again if I had to choose."

"And I was the cause of both."

"Then we are all walking dead, you, me, William Turner. Yet somehow we're all still here. There's hope in that."

"Or great irony."

"I was being quite literal when I said we're all here."

Elizabeth gasped, but no amount of air was enough to prepare her for Will taking her breath away as he came up behind her and pulled her into a deep kiss. She didn't know how long she was in his embrace, but it was too short a time before they broke apart.

"I came over without my ship, if you're wondering why no one alerted you," he said. "You know, Davy Jones' transporting trick."

"Good. The crew needs to be on alert."

"And hello, er, admiral," Will tipped his hat awkwardly.

"Call me James."

Will nodded. "Elizabeth, you could've asked Calypso to deliver your message. The man who comes back to life is a little disturbing. And he's distracting the crew."

"He's flirting with them, you mean?"

"Yes!" Will shifted back and forth on his feet. "I... the _Dutchman_ will meet you in a few hours. We're still trawling for victims of the blast. I've never seen _anything_ like this."

"I don't know what happened, but whoever did this will pay. Tai Huang is checking with the crew to find who had relatives on the island. Even if they were cast out as criminals... we will pay our respects."

Will stepped forward and kissed her forehead. "I need to go now, but I'll be back soon."

"I'll be waiting."

He disappeared. One moment he was inches from her, the next he was gone. She almost cried out at the sudden loss, but she shook herself and returned her attention to Norrington. "I'd like to know what happened to you. Maybe we can find some way to restore your body."

Before he could respond, Christian called her name from down the hall. "I will explain later," he said as she scooped him up.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed when she saw Christian peeking through her door and realized she hadn't given him a change of clothing. Sure enough, he was wearing nothing but the towel when she entered and headed for her wardrobe. "There's not much in the way of clothing. I've cleared out most of Sao Feng's items--he was the captain before me. The only things I kept were a few formal dress robes that work for me." To be honest, she'd just found them too gorgeous to discard. Any clothing that fit on Feng would be comically large on her, but the size looked right for Christian.

He peered over her shoulder. "That's silk!"

"I did say formal."

"I can't wear those! I'd ruin them in hours."

He had a point, she thought, as she located a beautiful jade robe with dragons wrought on the shoulders. It would pain her to see that floating in the ocean. She pushed it aside to reveal a mass of pink.

"Whoa," they said at the same time.

There was no denying the workmanship of the piece, a glossy royal purple overlaid with two vertical pink bands and covered with yellow magnolia flowers, each threaded by hand in various stages of bloom. Nevertheless, something about the color scheme made her brain do flips and her eyes water. It was like staring into a fire for too long. A great, pink bonfire. She glanced at Christian, whose face was screwed up in an expression of horror as he realized the inevitable outcome.

"If I had to lose one of the robes, it'd be this one," she said.

He shut his eyes and muttered something, though all she heard was "make them commit suicide." A comment about potential enemies, then. That was more optimistic a reaction than she'd expected.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he said as she took it off the hangar and handed it over. The outfit came with matching undergarments, which Elizabeth considered the mark of an overzealous tailor. While she did feel bad about forcing something so... blinding... on a guest--a guest who'd knocked her out with a giant stick, she reminded herself--she refused to feel sorry for anyone who hadn't experienced the pain of a corset.

All of a sudden, Norrington swiveled so that her hand nestled in the gap where his spine would've been, leaving him staring up through the ceiling. "The priestess is awake!"

She exchanged quick glances with Christian before dashing out the door. He followed, staggering as he tried to dress while running. By the time they were up the stairs, however, he was finishing tying the belt on the robe.

"Grab onto me!" Norrington commanded. In response, she held out the skull and let Christian take hold as well. Stepping onto the deck, complete chaos reigned as her crew dashed to and fro, screaming and cowering behind imaginary objects. The priestess stood under the main mast, head held high and smiling as she waved her hands about. The only people unaffected were Chase and Jack, who were gripping Chase's pet tiger and edging toward her, but every time they got too close, the priestess pointed at them and sparks flew through the air. 

Christian dragged her aft, and she saw the stick he was so fond of using. Digging her heels in, she remarked, "That's not going to work. We won't get close enough."

Flames burst from Chase's pant leg as they made another push, and he hopped up and down, trying to put it out. In the process, he lost hold of Joey and started screaming. "The koalas, they're everywhere! Stop biting me!"

His pet immediately leapt onto him, smothering the fire but also crushing his leg. Jack lost his grip on her as she soared away, and he dropped to the ground, clutching his head. A few seconds later, though, he looked up, studied his surroundings, and jumped back up. "Woohoo! I'm fine!"

"I have an idea," Christian said. "She was there when Jack and I passed their test."

"What test?"

He didn't answer her. Instead, let go of Norrigton and was also fine. "She's not targeting them because she believes they are long-lost allies," Norrington said. "At least, that scenario would make sense, and I think I remember some test about a nightingale."

"Then why's she attacking us?"

"Wouldn't you be suspicious if your long-lost allies showed up with your enemies, knocked you out, and brought you into their lair?"

Christian reached Chase, patted Joey on the head, and punched his friend, knocking him out cold. Elizabeth held her breath, expecting the tiger to maul him, but she instead followed close behind as Christian dragged her master toward the priestess. He called out to her in a language Elizabeth didn't recognize, and a second later, the screaming stopped. Those who had been running continued to do so, this time hiding behind real objects, namely masts and crates. Tai Huang crouched behind the wheel and refused to come out. He was pretending to steer the ship, though how he could steer facing aft, she didn't know.

A brief conversation ensued, still in that same mysterious language, before the priestess announced, "I am your prisoner! I yield!" Then she tore at her bodice and collapsed on the ground.

"Uh." Christian scratched his head. "I didn't tell her to do that."

"It's the classic chicken and the egg problem," Jack said, hovering over her. "Do you get captured because your clothes are torn, or do your clothes get torn because you're captured? My experience is it happens at about the same time, but what matters is that if you're going to be a prisoner, you might as well get the look right so everyone knows because those who don't know try to stick swords in you. And I was going to try that if you weren't, punching the Australian."

"Her name is Maria," Christian said.

"And how do you solve a problem like Maria?"

At that moment, Chase jolted awake. "Yaarrggh!" he screamed upon finding himself face to face with the priestess, grabbing a fallen cod and slapping Maria across the face.

"Not like that," Jack said. "That was half an hour ago. Half an hour ago is not now."

Christian took her arms and pulled her into a sitting position with her back against the mast. "They're just going to ask you a few questions, all right? It's nothing to worry about."

"He glows," she said, pointing at Chase. "The touch of water is upon him."

"More like the touch of smoldering cloth," Chase replied.

"And there is a woman who is the same, as though they are twins."

Chase blinked, pausing in his attempt to back away from her. "What? She's not talking about Cameron, is she?"

Maria smiled. "She sits in a chair that rolls. Her leg is broken. She is being held against her will."

Christian dropped to one knee. "Where is she? Do you know her location?"

"There's someone else with her," she continued, staring through space.

"Yes, a man," Christian prompted, frowning when she didn't respond. "They've both been kidnapped."

Her hand shot up and grabbed the front of his robes, pulling him close. "The anchor!" she cried, eyes bulging. "The anchor is with her!"

"Yes, you could say that." Christian nodded. "My anchor is with her."

"You must get the anchor back!"

"I need your help! If you can see them, where are they?"

She shook her head. "I can only see that which has been touched by water. Like him." She pointed at Chase. "And creatures like _those_." Her finger moved on to Norrington and Joey. "Tricky ones, those are."

"They can block your powers," Elizabeth said.

The priestess glanced at Christian before answering. "We are all touched by water. Those who are clever can use that bond against me."

"How can we find Cameron and Olli?" Christian persisted.

Maria's hand moved again, this time to point back toward land. "Follow the guardians of the water."

"Norrington-- _James_ said the tunnels have been sealed," Elizabeth said.

"A priest can open them." She smiled, pointing at herself. "That would be me."

"We are not following her into the tunnels," Jack said.

"You don't have to," Christian said, "but she and I have common goals."

"She wants to kill you..." Jack took in the pink and purple robe. "...and you want to kill yourself as well."

"I wanted to look at the tunnels too," Chase said. "And we have Joey and Norrington to keep us safe."

"Does Norrington want to come?" Christian asked.

"I made you a promise, and I will keep it," he replied. "I don't see how going into the tunnels will help, but if you go, well, you can't stage a rescue if you're dead."

"Are you going to talk his attackers to death?" Jack asked.

"You have other friends aboard the _Black Pearl_," Elizabeth pointed out. "She's the fastest ship in the world."

"And which direction will she go?"

Elizabeth sighed. Her priority was finding the invaders, not rescuing a couple captives, and the tunnel sounded like a good way to gather information. However, Will couldn't go into them, so if she wanted his help, she needed to stay on the water. "I won't stop you if you wish to go."

Jack threw up his hands. "Not going."

"Going," Christian said.

"Suicidal as it sounds, I'm going too," Chase affirmed.

"Suicidal? You have a robot tiger!"

"And you only have a skull, which means you're going to make me go first."

"You're volunteering? Great."

Chase slapped his forehead, forgetting he still had a fish in hand. "Ugh!" He threw it into Jack's face.

"Then it's settled," Elizabeth said. "We'll get you supplies and tender you ashore in two hours."

-------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was by the horizon when Olli climbed onto the deck with Omeed. He threw a hand over his eyes to block the light, but Omeed slapped him on the back and said, "Never practice in ideal conditions, because you'll never fight in them."

"Or you could make your own perfection."

"Spoken like a sage. That's clever. It is said you can never strike down a wise man."

"How nice of you."

"No, it is not because we do not try but because the wise man knows how to avoid your blow."

"But what if you do kill him!"

"Then he is not so wise after all." Omeed walked to the weapons rack that surrounded the main mast and handed him a bamboo stick. "Here, it is lighter."

"I can take the weight! I want to trade."

"You can't have my stick!"

"If I have to choose between carrying a heavy stick or getting hit by one, I'll take my chances on the former."

"I don't want you to touch my stick!"

"I am grabbing your stick and you are taking mine!"

"You don't know how to handle my stick. It took many years to get it into the right shape. Perfect balance and handling, the correct compromise between speed and strength."

Olli thwacked him on the wrist with the bamboo and took the staff. "Better."

"You are a dirty opponent." But Omeed took the bamboo and made no move to attempt another exchange.

"I believe the correct word is 'wise.'" He ducked when Omeed tried to hit him over the head but scraped the bottom of the staff along the deck, denting the wood paneling and staining the metal cover end cap. Omeed winced at the crunching sound. "Oops."

The pirate moved, and Olli winced, thinking another attack was coming but unsure what to expect. However, Omeed positioned himself behind him and took his wrists in his hands, cocooning Olli with his body. "Despite what I have said, the quarterstaff is not a stick. Do not hold it like one. Treat it with respect, hold it as though it were your lifeline."

"Your arms are very big. Have I told you that?"

"Numerous times," Omeed replied, sounding amused. "But my wife is even bigger."

"Huh?" Omeed used his hold to make Olli point the staff at a woman who was at least 190 centimeters and whose appendages looked to be wound from thick rope. She smiled, waved, and blew them a kiss.

A crowd was congregating around them. With the sun down, the rooms below deck would start cooling. Many had completed the day's tasks and looked for a diversion before retiring for the night.

"She's pretty. What's her name?"

"Jannat. Perhaps you would like to become more acquainted with both of us tonight?"

"I would love that, but I don't think my boyfriend would approve."

"Fair enough." Without warning, Omeed swung his hands in a semicircle. Olli let go of the staff to prevent it from crushing his fingers, then snatched it again as it flew away from him. Only afterwards did he realize that he'd twirled it a full 360 degrees. Omeed grinned, unleashing a blast of hot air on his right shoulder. "Quick fingers, I like that."

Scattered applause came from the other pirates, and Olli grinned at them as Omeed stepped away.

"Before you get too confident, though, perhaps you should see how experienced fighters duel." Omeed motioned for his staff back, and Olli tossed it to him. He caught it in one hand and spun it twice before slamming the base onto the deck. Jannat winked at Olli as she sauntered past him and picked out a staff two feet longer than Omeed's. He wasn't kidding when he said her arms had more muscle.

Olli slid into the circle of spectators and watched as the man who'd escorted Cameron into their room raised his hands and counted down, "Three, two, one, begin!"

Husband and wife swung into action, and if their movements were too quick for the eye to follow, their weapons were invisible, their existence given away only by the distortion of air rushing into the space where they had been. Each time the staffs struck, two brown lines formed an "X," and the ship's sympathetic wood frame echoed the clack that rang out. Then the staffs would disappear again and flash again, like arcs of lightning or ghostly St. Elmo's fire. 

The two fighters spun about each other, and there seemed to be as much legwork involved as hand-eye coordination. Sweat ran down their skin in rivulets and flew into the audience like droplets from a sprinkler. At one point, Jannat landed a blow on Omeed's leg, but he turned his fall into a spin and rolled into a defensive position. His next strike caught her staff, and he quickly slid forward, keeping enough pressure on the weapon that she couldn't pull away. Locked together, they flew toward the boundary of the sparring zone until Jannat dug her heels in at the last minute and pushed him away. She landed four successive blows along his upper body before catching him behind the knee and sending him into the air. He hit the ground on his back, the impact sending jolts along the entire ship.

For a moment, he was still, and Olli nearly ran over to check his condition, but then he leaped back up, soaring a meter into the air, and landed on his feet. Spotting Olli's dropped jaw, he came over and put the staff into his hands. "I will teach you how to fight like that. I will be gentle."

Olli nodded. "Thanks."

Omeed's smile never flickered. "That is the least of what you will face if you try to escape."

-------------------------------------------------------------

Between the setting sun and the repairs on the mizzen mast, there was no time for Cuddy to begin the sparring lessons she'd promised the crew, but considering they were stuck aboard for an indefinite period of time, no one seemed too upset. Barbossa had been polite to them after the mutual dunks, going so far as to offer dry clothing for her. She wasn't sure how he'd gotten the dress, a large and lacy red affair that showed far too much cleavage, but he claimed it belonged to Elizabeth, the mysterious governor of Singapore, when she was a guest aboard the vessel. While the history and the explanation set off warning bells, she had no alternatives since all their carefully packed luggage was aboard the missing TARDIS.

Meanwhile, she wasn't sure if Ianto had truly taken offense to her methods or if he was just a workaholic. She suspected a combination of both, as he had rejoined the cleanup effort as soon as they finished talking and hadn't been seen taking a break since. There was method in his madness that left her a little awed as the pirates went from disgruntled laborers to organized cleaning crews over the space of an hour. When she mentioned it to Barbossa, he grunted that the ship was still a mess, but the well-trained eye could see the beginnings of something approaching efficiency. The important point was that he had accomplished it without ordering anyone around; Ianto took specific chores from some of the pirates to group those who worked well together and followed up with casual suggestions and examples that left people feeling grateful rather than overworked.

Deciding her own administrative services weren't needed, Cuddy took to exploring and discovered beside the captain's quarters a descent that led to the ship's figurehead. It was a woman releasing a dove, an image at complete odds with the ship's black masts, but that mattered less to Cuddy than the fact that it blocked her view. There was little to see up ahead that couldn't be seen to either side, namely endless stretches of waves, but that was beside the point. It bothered her like a cot left in front of a doorway, even if it was a door that led to an unused maintenance closet.

The sea did have a calming effect, and the sunset had been gorgeous, turning the crests of each wave into strings of diamonds. But the crash of water against the hull reminded her of time running out, like the soft whisper of sand through an hourglass. Each passing hour without sighting another ship increased the chance that the others had not survived the blast. Every minute, she waited for the sound of the TARDIS appearing on the deck, but it did not come and the absence was gaping. The seconds took turns reminding her she was trapped in the 18th century, far from home and before her time, and if these problems were not enough, she could remind herself that they were failing a patient. They weren't one step closer to a cure for Gwen--in fact, they'd probably run backwards.

Footsteps caught her attention, though they weren't the thuds of Barbossa's boots, so she wasn't too concerned. Gregor descended the stairs, his shirt and hair fluttering in the night wind. She could barely make out his chiseled features, but as he approached, the moon came out from behind a cloud and illuminated their positions with pale blue beams.

"The dress looks good on you," he said. "It makes you look formidable."

"Is that German for 'slutty'?"

"Red is a powerful color, especially on a woman."

"I'll thank you for the compliment and advise you to stop while you're still ahead."

He stood beside her and leaned on the railing, just far enough that he wasn't touching her but close enough to violate her personal space. She suspected he was not just exhibiting European sensibilities but didn't move away.

"What do you do back home?" she asked.

"I own and run a coffee lounge. It's a lovely place, though less so now that floating robots blew a few holes in it." He sighed for emphasis. "Before that, I was a helicopter pilot, but I'm not allowed to fly anymore. Medical reasons." Cuddy was about to ask for specifics when he grinned and winked at her. "And before _that_, I was an escort for hire."

"You're joking."

"Are you sure?"

"We have a game called two truths and a lie."

"I'm not familiar with that game, I'm currently managing the career of a rising star in boxing, and I once killed three men with a rubber band."

She laughed, and her hand brushed his before she pulled it back. "I'm going to say the last one."

"That brings you up to one out of two. Your turn."

"I want to know who this rising star is. Can I get his autograph and sell it when he makes it big?"

"I don't know. Depends on how much my brother likes you."

"_Christian_?"

"Is that surprising?"

"He's not as buff as I would expect."

"That's why he's still rising. His skills are fermenting, like yeast."

"All right, I'm the administrator of the hospital at Princeton in New Jersey, I have three children, and I specialize in endocrinology."

"Easy, you don't have three children, you're too young."

"Oh, you're pulling out all the stops."

"Try again. But if I get this one right, you have to let me cook you dinner."

"I'll have to try harder then." She smiled. "I am Jewish, I scuba dive, and I am in love with one of my employees."

Gregor surprised her when he didn't laugh and grab the obvious lie. Instead, he leaned closer and said, "Isn't it cheating not to include a lie?"

"Of course I included a lie."

"No, you blinked several times when you said the last one. That means you were thinking about it and feeling guilty about it. You want to think you're not in love with someone, but really, you are and you know it."

"If you're trying to smooth-talk me, it isn't working."

"How am I supposed to compete with a man in your head?"

"I am _not_ in love with House." She realized she shouldn't sound so vehement.

"House? He wasn't one of the people in the TARDIS."

"No, he's with the other Doctor, but he likes to play mind games and tell people I'm in love with him."

"And you like that?"

"I do not like that! Apart from how miserable he makes himself and everyone he cares about, it violates so many ethical boundaries that I don't want to think about it!"

"Then you're not in love with him?"

"Of course not."

"I see..." He pulled away from the railing and headed for the stairs. "Try not to stay out too long. You might be a doctor, but you don't seem to take too much care with your own injuries."

It was a ploy, she knew. He might really be worried about her, but everything else was a prince charming act. She wasn't in love with House, and anyway, in the factory, she'd seen the way he looked at Wilson. House had never seemed to belong with anything except work until that moment. There'd been a time when she wanted to be on the receiving end of that realization, when something finally clicked and everything fell in place. Now, the puzzle was done, and she helped solve it but had no place in it. So where did that leave her? Now she was the one who didn't belong, and if she didn't grab the loose pieces and put them together, who would?

"Gregor, wait," she said.

He turned and looked genuinely confused. She put her hands on the sides of his head and pulled him close. Once their lips met, neither of them had any confusion about what to do. Gregor moaned as they fell against the wall. The wood reverberated with a loud boom as they struck. Seconds later, Barbossa thumped out of his quarters.

"Arrr, who be banging so hard-- oh, I spy two lover birds nesting on me ship."

Cuddy broke apart from Gregor, pushing him away and accidentally sending him sprawling down the three steps below them.

"Did the plumage I give you attract desperately needed attention?" He leered.

"I hate to dampen your feathers, but that's none of your business."

Barbossa glanced around to make sure the crew wasn't congregating to see the source of the commotion and lowered his voice. "Try to keep it together," he said as Gregor tried to get up and fell over. "Your friends will be here soon."

"How do you know?" Cuddy asked.

"Nothing be coincidence. Prophecies speak of your blue box, and they mention Elizabeth too. Aye, rest assured, they'll be with her, and if there be any certainty in life, it be that fate always draws the same people together. We can hate and love, fight and fight side by side, but whatever happens, we always find each other and suffer the company once more."


	31. Chapter 23:Déjà vu of Déjà vu of Déjà vu

A/N: Apologies for any unnecessary alerts! This is not a new chapter, merely a resubmission of the last one with a few minor changes. Also, I forgot to mention that the first name of a minor OC was changed. This is not reflected in the previous Discworld chapter (though he only appeared for a couple lines) here on , because I would have to reformat the chapter for submission here and I am too lazy to do that, but it is changed on our livejournal (which is also, by the way, kept up to date in terms of other edits as well that aren't big enough to be changed here). That's all, sorry for the author's note, which I know can be annoying, and continue!

**Chapter 23**

**Déjà vu of Déjà vu of Déjà vu**

Tosh was pretty sure her eyes were open, but she couldn't see. She felt that sort of half-awareness, as if she were floating inside a partially remembered dream. 

There were whispers of shapes around her, more felt than seen, less tangible than smoke.

_What do you feel?_ said one.

_Where do you come from?_ said another.

_What do you love?_

She opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out. Her throat felt parched.

_What do you fear?_

_What do you hate?_

She struggled to move, but each of her limbs felt like lead. She couldn't seem to get her brain to send the right signals.

_What do you hope for?_

_What do you regret?_

_What do you..._

_What..._

_What..._

_What do you want?_

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Vimes stood stiffly in front of Vetinari's desk, waiting for the Patrician to look up from his pile of paperwork.

"Commander," Vetinari said after about ten minutes, as if Vimes had just then walked into the room. "I have something very important to tell you, but first, I would very much like to meet this doctor you've been carting around all day." Vimes didn't bother to wonder how Vetinari knew about that. Vetinari always knew about everything that went on in his city, and Vimes had learned long ago that it was futile to try to keep secrets.

"He's in the waiting room," he said, as if Vetinari didn't already know that too. The Patrician picked up a small bell on his desk and rang it. A second later, House was being shown in by one of Vetinari's numerous clerks. 

"Where can I get a clock like that?" greeted House with enthusiasm. "It's brilliant! I can sense it would be extremely useful back home. I could put one in the clinic, it might encourage people not to come. Or one in my office for the same reason, although there might be some problems if I need to hide out there. Oh, if I got a whole bunch, I could put one in each patient's room the next time my cable dies! That would be quality entertainment, might also clear out some patients."

Vetinari stared. "Fascinating."

"What the hell kind of doctor are you?" said Vimes.

"So what's up?" said House.

"Please have a seat," Vetinari said, gesturing to the two empty, uncomfortable-looking chairs in front of his desk. 

"Lovely," said House as he sat heavily. "I was beginning to cramp." Vimes rolled his eyes and declined to sit, as usual.

"Sir Samuel, you need to take the utmost care in dealing with this case." The Patrician was speaking with a strange intensity. Vimes didn't need to ask which case. 

"We are taking every precaution--"

"Take them all twice. This is no ordinary foe you are dealing with."

Warning bells sounded in Vimes's head. "With all due respect, sir, we are doing everything we can, and I think we've dealt with worse."

"You haven't. Tell me, Sir Samuel, what do you know about Il Diluvio?" Vetinari carefully steepled his fingers, elbows on his desk. Vimes frowned.

"About what?"

"I believe they are also known here as The Company."

Vimes's frown deepened. "Not a whole lot. Small gang of rogues from Uberwald, very secretive, tend to involve themselves in important matters over there, but don't often leave Uberwald." 

"Correct. In the absence of a unifying government in Uberwald, they consider themselves something of a secret police force."

"Ooo, mysterious! Is that 'company' as in a business, or as in 'honey, we're having company tonight!'?" said House, grinning. 

"The latter, Dr. House. Two confirmed members of The Company have been sighted inside the city by reliable sources," continued Vetinari.

Vimes sucked in a breath. "Good name," said House, clearly unaffected by the atmosphere in the room. "Simple, which is good. Too many secret evil organizations try to over-complicate their names with all sorts of acronyms and crap. They don't realize it just makes them sound camp." He was ignored.

"Joshua Law was sighted traveling with am unknown woman, and also Felix Lowell, who was alone. They were seen separately, on different days and at opposite sides of the city, but it's still cause for alarm. As you said, The Company rarely travels this far from Uberwald." Vetinari shuffled some papers around. Vimes knew it was just for show, to occupy his hands--Vetinari never forgot anything.

"Law and the unknown woman appeared to be sightseeing. My spies followed them for about half the day today without noticing anything suspicious, but lost them not long after noon, near the Opera House. Lowell was spotted just inside the gates, but vanished almost right away. I don't yet know where he went." Vetinari's expression betrayed nothing, but Vimes knew he was perturbed by this; the Patrician wasn't used to being uninformed. Next to him, House was staying uncharacteristically quiet, but he still wore that stupid grin, and it was getting wider by the minute. 

Vimes searched his memory for details about the known members and came up with a young man and... it was no use, he didn't remember anything about Lowell, except one thing. "Both Law and Lowell are notorious for working on their own," he said, hoping he was remembering correctly. "It doesn't necessarily mean that the Company is getting involved with anything here."

"It doesn't hurt to be careful, Sir Samuel, and it would be quite a coincidence for two of them to end up here." Vimes got the impression he wasn't being told anything and it vexed him, though he wasn't surprised. 

"So these people are pretty dangerous, huh?" House spoke up. "Fancy themselves pretty important? How many of them are there?" Vetinari fixed him with a piercing stare. House didn't even seem to notice--Vimes was grudgingly impressed, but only a little. 

"Only they know, I expect," said the Patrician. "There are no less than seven or eight members, and no more than twenty."

"That's a terrible estimation."

"Since they rarely gather, it's difficult to identify who is a real member and who is an imitator, of whom there are many. Furthermore, as Sir Samuel said, they rarely travel this far from Uberwald. They have great love for their country, but not so much for the people living in it. They act how they deem is best for Uberwald, and other countries don't matter."

Vimes considered them representative of everything wrong with coppers. You couldn't operate a police force like that. It just didn't work. Coppers have to be answerable to some high power, or else they'd just become another gang. Who watches the watchmen? It always came back to that.

House was following a different train of thought. "If this crazy, secret, and highly unlikely group of supervillains only care about... Uber Waldo, isn't it safe to assume that their business here has something to do with it?"

"Indeed, Doctor House. It's a worrying thought," said Vetinari.

"If you say so." House yawned, bored again.

"What does Rhys have to say about all this?" said Vimes.

"The Low King's official statement is that he knows nothing about it, but he is looking into it."

"And his unofficial statement?"

"He really does know nothing about it, and he really is looking into it."

Vimes rubbed his temples. "So why distinguish between the two?"

"By making an official statement that he doesn't know anything, he effectively ensures that people think he really does, and knowledge is a good thing for people to think you have." Vimes looked pained so Vetinari added, "It's all politics, Sir Samuel." Vimes groaned. House was laughing quietly. "Either way, the dwarfs are not involved in this, although I have no doubt they will do their best to change that."

"So if these supervillains from Where's Waldo are so secret, how come everything and their dog seems to know about them?" House cut in.

"They are very secretive," Vetinari explained. "That's why everyone knows. Secrets have a natural tendency not to stay secrets for long. They are the subject of much speculation and many folk tales. However, although their existence is hardly a real secret, all the details of their organization are. It's almost impossible to distinguish between fact and made-up stories. No one knows how many of them there are, or what they are going to do. There are only five confirmed members, and I suspect that they are only confirmed because they let themselves be. Uberwald is plenty big enough to hide effectively in."

It occurred to Vimes that it was a little odd how much Vetinari seemed to be telling House, about whom he presumably knew nothing at all. It wasn't like him to be so accommodating. "Getting back to the point," he said crankily, "If the dwarfs aren't involved, who is? None of the other options seem pleasant." Vimes had had enough of werewolves, vampires, and various other ghouls common to Uberwald to last him a lifetime.

"I'm afraid it is impossible to say at this point," said Vetinari. "I have people in all the major circles in Uberwald, but there are countless rogue vampires and werewolves, and most other natives don't keep such comprehensive social groups, which makes them more difficult to keep track of. Uberwald is a big place, Sir Samuel."

Vimes thought about all this. "What do you expect me to do about it? This all seems very political. I'm through with political. I've had it up to _here_ with _political_."

"Calm down, Sir Samuel."

Vimes thought he was being perfectly calm, but he took a deep breath anyway. "Sir," he said.

"I don't expect you to do anything. In fact, just the opposite. I merely thought you ought to know. It's not your place to investigate this, but you can at least be aware of it so you can avoid trouble."

_Not my place?_ though Vimes. _If one of those cocky bastards commits a crime in_ my _city, we'll see about whose place it is._

Out loud, he said, "Is that all, sir?"

"Please, don't let me detain you." Vetinari waved a hand dismissively. Grimacing, House stood, and Vimes headed gratefully for the door. "Oh, one more thing, Commander," said the Patrician, as if a thought had just occurred to him. Vimes stifled a groan and stopped, but didn't bother to turn around. "You must not, under any circumstances, go looking for The Company. Do not involve yourself in this. You have enough to deal with. This is not a matter for the Watch." House watched both of them, carefully and with apparent interest. After a long moment, Vimes said, "Sir," again, and walked out.

A couple minutes after they both had gone, Vetinari's head clerk, Drumknott, entered with a fresh pile of papers, which he deposited on the Patrician's desk.

"Tell me, Drumknott," said Lord Vetinari, "do you think I've gone soft?"

"How do you mean, sir?" said Drumknott.

"It occurs to me that perhaps I rely on the Commander a bit too much."

"Sir?"

"It can be dangerous to place too much trust in any one person."

"I think it unlikely that Commander Vimes will do anything other than what you intend, sir," said the clerk loyally.

Vetinari looked troubled. "Oh dear, I do hope that is not the case. That would ruin everything." Drumknott's brow wrinkled. After a pause, Vetinari added, "What did you think of our visitor?"

"Doctor House, sir? He was very... blunt. He told me I need to spend more time in the sun if I ever want to find a lady."

"Did he now?" Something like a smile played over the Patrician's lip.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir, why did you want him in here when you were revealing highly confidential information? We don't know anything about him."

"Two reasons, Drumknott. The first is that he and his companions arrived in the city under very mysterious circumstances. Ensuring he stays with the Commander is a way of keeping an eye on him. I sense Doctor House is probably very similar to the Commander in many ways. Second, he is a chaotic element. Sometimes when a situation is most delicate, what is actually needed is something to shake things up. Every now and then, a chaotic element is necessary."

"I do not understand, sir."

"No, Drumknott, I expect you don't."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

In the cell block, Sergeant Colon gesticulated wildly. "And then I said, 'BACK, YOU EVIL FIEND!' And do you know what he did?"

"What?"

"... he _blew up_!"

"WOAH!" 

"... You two can go on patrol. We've got the situation here covered," said the sergeant on duty.

The girl, who was dressed as a boy and had earlier that day broken into the Patrician's Palace, sat in the corner of a cell and sulked. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------

In the darkness below ground, a shadow stirred. Then, so did two other shadows. A fourth didn't bother. In actuality, they weren't really shadows, but they would have been shadows if there had been any light to cast them. 

Darkness underground is not like regular darkness. Even on a moonless night, eyes can adjust to the dark and it is possible to see outlines and shadows, but in the depths there's nothing to adjust to. A man (or a dwarf, troll, or any other creature) could sit down there for eternity and never be able to see a thing, not even vague grey shades. Even that, though, isn't the real difference between the dark with which most are familiar and the dark that hides underground. 

If you get down far enough in the deeps, you find darkness that is _old_, older than nearly anything else on the Disc. There are thousands of caverns below the surface and the darkness there is the kind that has never been exposed to natural light. It has existed there since the creation of the Disc. The Dwarfs thrive in underground caverns and mines. They think they know the dark, they think they've mastered it, but even dwarfs will only go down so far.

And who knows what manner of creature may have evolved out of the ancient, dusty, cold, still, merciless dark that exists in the untouched underbelly of the Disc?*

Many scientists and bad comedians alike have speculated on what would happen if the Dwarfs were ever to dig too deep and find themselves on the underside of the Disc, especially with regards to gravity, but that has no real relevance. 

Everyone knows that Ankh-Morpork is built on Ankh-Morpork. And that is also built on Ankh-Morpork, which is built on Ankh-Morpork, and so on. But eventually, just like everything else eventually is, Ankh-Morpork is built on dirt and clay and mud.

The stirring shadows were not in the real dark of the Disc's depths, which is why they were shadows at all. Instead they were sitting in some ancient cellar several layers below the surface. The dwarfs that had been digging under the city had left months ago, but no great efforts had been made to refill their tunnels, and although the ever-oozing river had done most of the work already, even temporary dwarf tunnels are sturdy and some sections, though difficult to reach, remained clear. 

It wasn't silent in the buried cellar. Someone was cursing softly, and a deep, toneless humming was emanating from one corner. Someone was snoring softly, but a slight echo made it difficult to pinpoint where it was coming from. The sound of rocks being methodically hit together was coming from the same general direction as the cursing. A spark flew, and a minute later some dry sticks and leaves caught fire, dimly illuminating the area.

The four occupants of the underground room made up a strange group. The one who had lit the fire was a petite blonde man wearing a loose, dark blue sweater, glasses, and a pleasant smile. His name was Sherlock Lamport. He looked normal--a person passing him on the streets wouldn't have looked twice. The same could not be said about the others. 

The man behind Sherlock was so large that he wasn't immediately noticeable. The eyes passed right over him because it was more likely he was a wall than a person, and it took the brain several long seconds to register what the input had actually been. His name was Franklin, and he was enormous. His head was twice the size of a normal man's head, and his shoulders were three times as broad. He was perhaps eight feet tall or more, hunched over due to the low ceiling and covered in poorly-healed scars. Possibly as a result of some profound mistake, he was clad in a worn three-piece suit that did not at all match his otherwise rough appearance. He was humming softly to himself.

"Hush, Franklin, you're giving me a headache," said a woman from across the room. She sat stiffly on a rock, back rigid and face set in a severe expression. She looked like she had just walked off the screen of a slightly naughty Amazonian adventure movie. She wasn't wearing much, but what she was wearing was mostly leather and fur, with a sort of utility belt and very practical, heavy boots, because although she looked like she was trying to bring back the look of Conan the Barbarian, she wasn't stupid enough to try prancing around in leather heels just to complete the look. To complete the look, she was completely bald except for a thick, high ponytail that hung down her back. 

The cavern's final occupant was snoring. His name was Gideon Rosen, and he was draped across a couple rocks in a position that looked something less than comfortable, but that didn't seem to affect his ability to sleep. His legs were stretched out in front of him, the black trousers making them appear longer and slimmer than they were, and a wide-brimmed hat was tilted over his face to shield it from the minimal amount of light present. 

The woman, whose name was Elvira Mondego, made an irritated noise. "They're late. Where the hell is Law?"

"They'll be here," said Sherlock, cheerfully stoking the fire. A particularly loud snore came from Gideon's general direction.

"We've been here for an _hour_."

"You shouldn't let him get under your skin, you know."

"He's not under my skin," Elvira snapped. "His stupid comments don't bother me, I hate how unprofessional he is. I don't understand why the boss keeps him around."

"If you say," said Sherlock agreeably. 

"Where's da boss?" rumbled Franklin.

"The boss isn't coming," said a pleasant-sounding voice from the room's entrance, and as they all looked over (except for Gideon, who was still asleep), Joshua Law sauntered in, a lazy grin on his face. He was followed by Genevieve West, who led Spot, her enormous dog. 

"Law, you're late. As usual," said Elvira tersely. 

"Joshua. Genevieve." Sherlock inclined his head in greeting, still occupied with the fire.

"Hey kiddo!" Law sauntered over and squatted next to the blonde. "How ya been? I haven't seen you in ages. Oh, hey Franklin! It's been a long time since I saw you too. I missed ya, big guy." Franklin was humming again, but he shrugged in response.

"Genevieve," said Elvira, "can't you control him a little better? You two are an _hour_ late!"

"How exactly am I supposed to control him? He ran off! There was nothing I could do." Genevieve sat primly on the nearest outcropping of rocks to Elvira, and Spot promptly curled up at her feet. Together, the two women made a frighteningly severe image.

"What's this about the boss, now?" said Sherlock, finally sitting back. 

"Change of plans. He's not coming. He's given us instructions to pass on, though, so don't worry yourself. Mommy and Daddy took care of things!" Both Genevieve and Sherlock made identical disgusted faces.

In the corner, Gideon snorted, shifted, and resumed snoring. Genevieve shot him a concerned look. "Should we wake him up?"

Law waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, leave him be." Genevieve looked to Elvira, who rolled her eyes and nodded. 

"Good to see you Genevieve," said Franklin, who was just now catching up.

Law got down to business. "Franklin, the boss wants you to meet up with Bliss, she's already here and she'll find you by tonight. Most of us are already inside the city, but the boss, he doesn't want anyone else spotted if at all possible. You two are in charge of getting everyone else in without being noticed. Here, take this." He handed over a piece of folded paper and made sure Franklin had put it safely away and was paying attention before continuing. "That has the approximate times they'll be arriving, as well as where they'll be entering. Gotta be honest with you, big guy, I seriously doubted the wisdom of putting the two of you on this job. You guys make a great team, but you're a dumbass and she's a ditz, and that's not a good combination when it comes to subterfuge, but the boss has confidence you'll manage. The Patrician is _not_ an easy man to sneak by, so use extra caution. And by extra caution, I mean no singing. Got it?"

Franklin grunted, and Law took it as agreement. "Excellent. Kiddo!" He turned to Sherlock and ruffled his hair enthusiastically. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but Law failed to notice. "You're on surveillance, section 7-2. Standard operations, you know what to do." Sherlock nodded. 

"Oh, hey Law, 'bout fuckin' time you showed up," said Gideon, who had finally woken up and was stretching lazily. 

"How would you know?" snapped Elvira. "You were already snoring away over there when I got here, and I know that means you've probably been here since yesterday without waking up once."

"Educated guess." Gideon smirked at her.

"Elvira, gorgeous, you need to relax a bit. You're too high-strung," drawled Law, still grinning broadly despite the arguing. "Sleeping Beauty, excellent timing. Now stop being a little asshole and pay attention." Gideon shrugged and adjusted his hat. "Wonderful." Law pulled two more folded pieces of paper out of his pocket. "I don't know what these are," he said.

"Uh-huh," said Gideon. "Excellent, so glad you're here."

Law cheerfully ignored him and continued. "There's a job description in each, and they each require two of us. Boss said not to look until we were paired and only to look at our own, but he didn't care how we split up. So, Genevieve, babe, since we make such a lovely team, what do you say we--"

"No," Genevieve interrupted. Law strived to look hurt.

"But, babe, I--"

"Absolutely not."

"Fine." He pouted. "My other gorgeous lady will gladly partner with me, won't she?" 

Elvira glared at him. "Surely you must be joking."

"Is that a yes? It's hard to tell when I am so distracted by your beauty."

"No."

"Oh, don't play hard to get, now! What would I do without my ladies?" Law lamented. 

"You can partner with Gideon," said Elvira with finality. She plucked one of the papers from Law's fingers. "Genevieve and I will take this one."

"Don't do this to me! You can't leave me with him! He's mean and he hates me!" Law pleaded.

"Oh, buck up," said Gideon, then he laid back again and shut his eyes. Law stared at him with exaggerated horror.

"You're really going to do this to me, aren't you? Ladies, you break my heart!" 

"You'll be all right," said Sherlock briskly. "Are we finished?"

"I suppose so." 

"I have one thing to add, then. As per the boss's instructions, Felix, Genevieve, and Law have all allowed themselves to be seen, but the boss doesn't want the Patrician any more than suspicious. Aside from Law, Franklin is the only one here who's a 'known' member, and let's keep it that way. I'll be monitoring all your positions in case there's a problem, but at least for now, absolute secrecy is our number one priority. If you have to sacrifice something else to keep that secrecy, be it efficiency or even the completion of a job, don't hesitate."

"No worries, kiddo," said Law, and this time he sounded wistful.

"What's with that tone?" asked Genevieve suspiciously.

"Just thinkin'. It's been years since we were all in the same place, working together. If things go as planned, we should all be in the city within thirty-six hours. It'll be nice, seeing everyone together."

"Six years," added Franklin. Genevieve looked surprised he could count that high.

"Technically, we've never all been in the same place at the same time," said Sherlock. "We've had two replacements and an addition since we were last gathered." He nodded towards Genevieve as an example. 

"Just a minor detail," said Law. "Now, enough nostalgia. Complete your jobs, do them well, they're just set-up for the main event but they're still important. We'll be meeting again, hopefully for a full family reunion, in approximately forty hours. Unless you're told otherwise between now and then, assume we're meeting here. Now shoo!"

Aside from Gideon snoring once again in the corner, the others filed out fairly quickly. As Franklin's lumbering bulk disappeared down the dirt corridor, Law stood, careful not to bump his head on the ceiling, and stretched. He briefly examined the elaborately folded paper in his hand, but eventually put it back in his pocket without opening it. Then he made three long strides over to the other side of the room and gave Gideon a hard kick.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," he sang cheerfully as Gideon yelped in alarm, then kicked him again for good measure.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Wilson was finally starting to have fun. 

It hadn't escaped his notice that out of all his colleagues, he had been handling the whole alien invasion business with the least amount of grace. However, upon finding himself wandering around on an alien planet with no one for company except Archimedes, the _actual_ mathematician from ancient Greece, he had finally given up.

After giving up, things had gotten a lot more pleasant. If he actively didn't worry about anything that happened, it couldn't bother him. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of this before. It wasn't like it was new to him--he'd been actively ignoring House's crazy points for years. 

At the moment, Wilson and Archimedes were content to explore, and Wilson cheerfully ignored the fact that he had no idea how to get back to the TARDIS.

As they were walking down a busy street lined with thatched-roof buildings, a mouth-watering aroma caught Wilson's attention, and he suddenly realized how long it had been since he'd last eaten. The aroma in question was coming from a small pub to his left.

"Hey," he said, "you hungry?"

"Yes, but have we anything to pay with?" said Archimedes. 

"We'll think of something." His stomach growled in agreement, and they went in.

The first thing they noticed was that they were the tallest people in the room by at least two feet. They also noticed that the ceiling was far too low, and the chairs too small. They hesitated, but their presence didn't seem to bother all the short, armored people already in the pub, so they went in further, enticed by the wonderful aroma of food.

"What is that amazing smell?" Wilson asked the dwarf at the bar brightly.

"Pie," he grunted.

"Pie sounds great!" said Archimedes.

"Really? It doesn't smell like pie," said Wilson.

"Pie," insisted the dwarf. Wilson shrugged.

"All right, we'll take two pies." The dwarf grunted again and ambled off.

"This place is quite unique, isn't it?" said Archimedes cheerfully.

"What, you mean this pub, or this planet?"

"Well, both, really. How are we going to get back to that amazing machine?"

"You don't remember where it was either? Well, damn."

"This city is a maze. Who knew there were such incredible things in the universe?"

"Eh," Wilson said. They sat in silence for a minute longer, and then the dwarf came back and pushed two steaming pies in front of them. "Well, they do look like pies. Whenever someone says the word pie, I think of apple, but these are clearly meat pies. Which is good really, because I was looking for dinner, not dessert."

They both dug in, but quickly realized that the pie didn't taste as good as it smelled. The meat was stringy and tough, and there were absolutely no vegetables.

"I do have to wonder what sort of meat this is," said Archimedes dubiously after the first few bites. Wilson's stomach began to protest, and he felt a little green. "Excuse me," said Archimedes to the dwarf, "what's in this pie?"

"What do you think?" said the dwarf gruffly. "Rat, 'course."

Wilson clamped his hands over his mouth to keep from vomiting, stood up, slammed his head against the ceiling, and took off out the door. He vaguely heard Archimedes apologizing profusely before following him and the dwarf shouting about payment, but that was the least of his worries. He managed to hold back the vomit until he found an alley, and threw up in a corner. 

"Er, hate to interrupt, but we'd better get moving," said Archimedes behind him, sounding nervous. "That dwarf didn't look very happy."

They ended up being chased for eight blocks by an angry dwarf waving an axe.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

In the end, it hadn't taken Donna that long to explain the current situation to Sally, though she had skirted around details about where she and her friends had come from and what they were doing in Ankh-Morpork. 

When she heard about Donna taking over the kitchen at the barracks, Sally had explained that she was independently wealthy and lent Donna some coins. Donna had used them to purchase some broccoli, cabbage, and other vegetables that boil quickly. She also purchased a lot of salt and pepper. 

A couple blocks away from the barracks, Sally stopped another passing copper to get an update on the situation at the Patrician's Palace, where Donna knew Vimes and House had been headed before she intentionally lost them. 

Through a brief lull in the natural noises of the city, Donna caught a strain of music, headed by a mellow voice.

"What if his captor is cruel in his greed / and keeps both the ransom and king?"

A cart went by and drowned out the music, and by the time the cart had passed the hustle and bustle of the city made it impossible to hear again. 

"Come on, let's get going," said Sally from behind her. 

Donna hoisted her bag of vegetables over her shoulder and nodded. 

Around the next building and across the street, a cloaked and hooded person was playing a lute and singing. With the hood it was impossible to tell the person's age, and the voice was neutral enough that even the gender wasn't obvious, but it was loud and clear and it carried a complex tune, and Donna could hear it easily now. She listened to it vaguely, as they walked by.

"When the king heard the music of the minstrel boy / he brought him into the palace to sing. / And as reward for such a beautiful song / said he'd give him anything."

The tune stayed in her mind even after they were out of earshot.

For the second time that day, the barracks loomed up in front of her, enshrouded in the fog of the city and looking almost unbearably decrepit. She steeled herself and went inside. 

It was just as bad inside as she remembered it, but now at least some of the sick smell was masked by the wonderful aroma coming from the pot at the end of the room. 

"Miss! Miss! We've watched it just as you told us!" said one of the young women, coming up to greet her. 

"Excellent job," said Donna, giving her a wide smile. "What was your name again?"

"Cathy, Miss. My father and brother are both sick, so I came here to help them." The girl couldn't have been older than fifteen.

"That's a very brave thing, Cathy. I hope they get better, I really do. Now tell me, is there a knife in here I can use?" She pointed to her sack as an explanation. 

Luckily, there was a knife, and through there wasn't a cutting board, the tiny counter was already so worn down it didn't seem to matter. Donna thoroughly wiped it and then got to work chopping her vegetables.

"I'm going back to the station," said Sally, who had followed her in. "I'll find out where your friends have gone and come back later for you."

"Thanks."

While she was finishing up dicing the cabbage, she noticed something strange about the opposite wall. Most of it was made of the same poorly constructed wooden boards as the other three walls, but a small section, well-hidden in the shadows made by the corner, was brick. It was maybe only three square feet, and dead in the center was a small metal door. It looked almost like an old brick oven.

She dumped her shredded cabbage into the pot and went outside. 

She circled the building and still almost walked right by it, but sure enough, there on the end of one of the long walls was a brick protrusion. 

She went back inside and went over to examine it. 

"Cathy," she called. The girl scurried over. "What's this?"

Cathy looked a little surprised to see it. "I don't know, miss. I don't think I've ever noticed it before."

"If it's an oven, that could be useful."

"Should I open it and find out?"

"That's all right, I'll do it."

"Don't touch that," someone said behind them just as Donna was reaching for the handle. They whirled around.

One of the strangely-dressed doctors had come up behind them while they were talking, and despite his strange clothing, they hadn't noticed him. He was extremely tall, and towered over them. Donna shivered. 

"That's not for you to see," he said. His voice was indistinct through the makeshift gas mask, just barely understandable. It made him sound barely human. 

"Why not?" demanded Donna. 

"Orders," was all the doctor said, then he walked away again.

"Well, that was downright mysterious," said Donna. "I don't know about you, but I'm more curious than ever to know what's behind this."

"You should ask the Commander," said Cathy earnestly. "He had this place built after all."

"Do you suppose these supposed orders came from him, then?"

"Either him or the Patrician, must be, miss. I can't think of anyone else who would have the authority."

"All right, I guess I'll leave it alone for now. No sense in causing trouble. It'll be a couple more hours before that stew is fit to serve, I think, and I'll be staying here for a while. So in the meantime, why don't you show me what you do around here, and I'll help."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Deep within his underground palace, Dimitri DeLovely was in a rage. 

"_Where_ is Dante?" he roared. 

"He's not back yet, sir!" squeaked Rothgard the butler as he dodged another projectile vase. 

"Well what's _taking_ him so long?"

"I don't know, sir! He hasn't checked in yet!"

Dimitri growled inarticulately, then, having run out things in the immediate vicinity to throw, dropped unceremoniously into his throne and sulked. 

"W-what would you like me to do, sir?" asked Rothgard as he edged towards the door. Dimitri's sulks were legendary amongst his subordinates for their violence. 

"Send someone out to find him. My stupid little brother should not be disobeying me!"

Rothgard squeaked a reply and shut the door behind him as quickly as he could, just as a table crashed against it with amazing force. 

"Oh, hello, Rothgard. Is my brother in a mood?" said a pleasant voice behind him. He whirled around.

"Lord Dante! The Lord Dimitri requests your presence at once, sir!" Rothgard gestured frantically at the door. 

"Well, well, I suppose I should go see what my dear older brother wants, hmm?" Dante looked like his brother, but he was shorter and slightly stockier, with muscles instead of a long, slender frame. His black hair was also cut short, and he had a long, jagged scar running down one cheek that marred his otherwise handsome features. 

"Where have you _been_?" hissed Dimitri the moment he entered. 

"I was doing what you asked me to do," said Dante calmly. 

"What took you so long? You should have been done hours ago. The task I set for you was not that difficult."

"My apologies. I was delayed."

"Delayed by what?" The sour look on Dimitri's face intensified. 

"Nothing important," Dante said evasively. "Where is Madeleine?"

Dimitri's eyes narrowed. "What? That is not what we are discussing at the moment." 

"Usually she comes running to see me as soon as I get back. I just think it's a little strange, don't you?"

"I suggest you stop right there, Dante. Don't forget who gave you that scar."

Dante growled under his breath and whirled on his heels, stomping out of the hall. He slammed the door shut behind him, badly startling Rothgard. "Bit jumpy there, aren't you?"

"Sir, Madeleine was sent on a mission, sir," said Rothgard quietly, as if he were afraid that Dimitri would be able to hear him from inside the hall.

"A _mission_?" Dante roared. Rothgard cringed. "That was not part of the Plan! She's too young!"

"She accepted quite eagerly, sir...."

"Of course she did, she's young and naive and thinks she can help, but she can't! She's only eleven. She may be far more skilled than the average eleven-year-old, but she doesn't yet understand her limits!"

"Sir," Rothgard began. Dante cut him off.

"Where did he send her? Tell me!"

"He- he sent her to assassinate the Patrician! It's not my fault, I told him it wouldn't be wise!"

Dante stared at him, aghast. "To assassinate the Patrician? You're joking. How could he think she would be capable of that? That's a suicide mission!"

"He hardly explains his actions to me, my lord, but I don't think he actually expected her to succeed."

"Of course he didn't! That would be a folly. Do you know where she is now?"

"Yes, sir, she was caught and is being held by the City Watch." 

"She's not hurt, is she?"

"Last I heard, sir, no."

Dante sagged a tiny bit. "All right. Fine. At least she's okay for now. I'll get her out of there, it won't be a problem."

"You'll do it tonight, in fact," said a new voice. Dante chuckled haltingly. 

"Chastaine," he greeted the new arrival, a tall, cold-looking man. "What do you mean, tonight?"

"Lord Dimitri predicted you would stomp out on him, so he had me hang back to let you know that your new orders are to retrieve Madeleine from Pseudopolis Yard tonight." Chastaine examined his long nails primly while he said this, and Dante sighed heavily.

"We're all just pawns to him, aren't we?" 

"You should have learned that by now, Lord Dante."

"Yeah, yeah. Anything else?"

Chastaine shrugged. "Just don't cause too much of a disturbance. Be in and out as quickly as possible."

"Fine," Dante agreed. "One more thing. If my dear brother knew she was going to get caught, why did he send her on such a pointless mission?"

"Isn't it obvious? Her goal was never really to assassinate the Patrician. She was just a scout." Chastaine's smile grew into a feral grin. "Now we know what to expect when the rest of us go in tonight."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Colon and Nobby patrolled along the river Ankh, slowly and methodically. They were in their element. 

Minutes earlier, Commander Vimes had sprinted by, closely followed by Dr. House, who was shouting insults and actually moved quite quickly for a crippled guy. The Commander running madly through the city streets was hardly an uncommon sight, but him allowing a stranger to follow him around was not.

"I don't get it, Sarge," said Nobby. "Why would Mr. Vimes be keeping the old man with him? He knows the others were let go, he gave the order. It's just not like him."

"I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation, Nobby," answered Colon.

"Can't think of one."

"Must be one, there's always a rational explanation. They're probably related." In Sergeant Colon's experience, this was grounds for all sorts of strange behavior.

"Why should that matter?"

"As they say, blood is thicker than water."

Nobby looked doubtfully down at the river, which had the consistency of tar. "What sort of water are we talking about here, Sarge?"

"The type you drink," said Colon uncertainly, who had been thinking along the same lines even as he'd said it.

"Ah." Nobby considered this. "What about syrup?"

"Yes, well, no one wants to be stuck together with syrup, do they? That'd be daft."

"And Mr. Vimes and Mr. House are stuck together, are they?"

"Of course they are. Here, Nobby, haven't you ever heard of Ties of Blood and all that?"

"They didn't look very stuck together to me, is all I'm saying. And I didn't see any blood."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"Do you _have_ to run, you sadistic ass?" huffed House. Vimes finally stopped and turned with an irritated expression.

"I have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in. I have to get back to the Watch House, and this time of day the fastest way is to run there. Can you keep up or not?"

House caught up, and took the opportunity to pop several Vicodin tablets. "Uh, hello? Cripple, remember?" 

Vimes made a show of running his hand down his face in exasperation. "Just... just keep up, all right? I don't have time for this."

House watched him run off again and rolled his eyes at the watchman's back. "Good grief," he muttered. He took a couple more pills for good measure, tucked the little container safely back inside his pocket, and limped on as fast as he could. Tonight. he would pay for all the moving about he'd been doing recently, and it wouldn't just be his leg giving him pain. His right shoulder was taking an awful lot of strain from his heavy use of his cane, and he could feel its dull aching even through the Vicodin. He ignored it and soldiered on.

House wasn't an idiot. His success with his career was owed to the fact that he was very, very far from an idiot, but it was just as much due to his excellent observational skills and his ability to read people. Commander Vimes seemed simple at first, but it was becoming clear that he was an exceptionally difficult person to read. All the same, the Commander was certainly no idiot either.

When Donna had snuck off earlier, House had of course noticed, and he knew Vimes had noticed as well. However, Vimes hadn't mentioned it, which meant he wasn't bothered by it, which confirmed House's suspicions that they weren't technically under arrest anymore. This in turn meant that he could probably wander off at any time without any repercussions whatsoever. 

He didn't, though, and he rationalized this to himself in several different ways. 

The first was pure and simple: interest. House's whole life and every thing he'd done had been based upon interest. If something new and exciting came along, he would leap on it and obsess over it until it made sense. But lately, there had been less and less of interest. Even his medical cases had become mundane to him, and before Torchwood had arrived at the hospital, he'd been drifting. Since they had, even with all the pain and annoyance they had brought, interesting things had been happening. Mysteries begging to be solved, questions awaiting answers, had begun piling up at a rate he'd never experienced before, and for the first time in over a decade he'd felt that thrill of discovery. Though he'd never let it show, he wasn't ready to give that feeling up, and he was willing to do a lot to prolong it.

Slightly disturbed by how introspective his own thoughts were, House felt around in the back of his mind for the presence of Jack Harkness. He was getting much better at hiding his thoughts, but Jack still had decades of training on him. Jack was still there, as strongly as ever, but he wasn't paying attention to House. House got the sense he was rather busy and, not particularly caring what the captain got up to, tuned him back out.

Then there was the Patrician. In the ten minutes he'd been inside the man's office, House had formed and thrown out more first impressions than he'd thought possible. Why had he been allowed to be present while obviously important and confidential information was being imparted? Not just present, but included even. What gave the Patrician reason to trust him? 

It was far more likely, House reflected, that nothing of real import had been discussed, and it wasn't as though he'd be able to tell. 

The crux of the matter was, the Patrician wasn't like Cuddy. House was used to being able to manipulate the authority figures in his life, but he wasn't going to be able to manipulate or predict or fool this man.

At least one thing was certain, and that was that the Patrician knew a lot more about House than he was letting on. House had a suspicion that the man had him completely figured out despite the fact that he had only arrived at this place a couple hours ago, and that there was no possible way the Patrician could know about his background. Was there? Either way, the Patrician was not going to be the type to be held back by his own conceptions of what was and wasn't possible, and that only made his situation more interesting. 

House had no doubt that as long as he was still somewhere on the disc and the Patrician wanted to find him, he would be found.

Was that a good enough reason to stay involved if he didn't want to be, though? Well, no. He wasn't actually afraid the Patrician would hunt him down if he decided he didn't want to be involved. No matter how he looked at things, the only value he could imagine he had to the Patrician was as an outsider with no apparent allegiance. Although House couldn't see exactly what value this was, he had to admit he didn't have even close to the whole picture. 

Still running, he passed someone muttering loudly something about hands and shrimp, and then was nearly bowled over by an extremely offensive stench. _What is wrong with people in this city?_ he thought, but soldiered gamely on.

The most likely scenario was that House and his companions had arrived out of the blue and immediately caused a stir, and the Patrician was trying to take advantage of the situation to whatever mysterious end he wished to achieve. The odds were that directly involving House was a chance that had a reasonable potential gain, but a very small potential loss. 

Unexpectedly, House found he was okay with that. There were few men more eager for a challenge, and both Vimes and Lord Vetinari presented unique, exciting ones. 

At about that point, House's bout of introspection was cut short by his arrival back at the Watch House.

The Watch House was bright pink.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"Here we are!" said Carrot, looking bizarrely proud with his hands on his hips and his back ramrod straight. "This is the Seamstresses' Guild. It's run by Mrs. Palm, who is a wonderful, kind lady. She gave me a place to stay when I first came to the city!"

The Seamstresses' Guild was an enormous, gaudy affair with a steepled roof and pink and purple trim. It looked something like the castle of an overly zealous princess. 

"Uh huh," said Owen suspiciously. 

"Looks delightful," ventured the Doctor.

"Guh," said Sarah Jane. 

"They're delightful people, I'm sure they'd be willing to let you use a room or two for the night."

In the middle of Carrot's extolling, the door creaked open and a couple of scantily clad women peeked out. When they saw who was there, one of them squealed, and they threw the door open the rest of the way.

"Captain Carrot!" said the one who had squealed. "Have you come to visit us?"

Carrot smiled brightly at them. "Unfortunately I can't stay long. I actually have a favor to ask. Is Mrs. Palm in?" 

"Woah!" said Owen, sounding impressed. "Why didn't you tell us there would be a bunch of hot chicks here?" He regarded Carrot with a new respect. Carrot blinked at him blankly.

"Ignore him," advised Sarah Jane. 

"Come in, come in!" said one of the girls. "Captain Carrot's friends are always welcome, of course." She giggled alarmingly. 

They stepped through the door into a surprisingly tidy waiting room, complete with several plush couches, all with cozy-looking pillows on them, a fancy-looking rug on the floor, and gauzy red-hued drapes covering the windows. There were several more girls sitting on these couches, chatting and playing cards, but when their group entered the room, they jumped up and swarmed around Carrot, all talking at the same time.

There was also a large desk on one end of the room, manned by yet another underdressed girl, who was examining her nails with a bored expression, and while Carrot was being mobbed, the Doctor took the initiative and marched up.

"Hello," he said politely. "We'd like a room, please."

The receptionist, whose name tag--which miraculously had just enough material to cling to--revealed her name to be Cherry, looked up at him, then glanced around the room. "What, for all of you?"

"Of course! Oh, and we should have some other friends joining us later as well."

Cherry raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Well, all right. How many girls?" 

"Er, three," said the Doctor, counting on his fingers. "And that's a good point, they'd probably like a separate room."

Cherry stared at him. "If you say so, sir," she said slowly after a short pause. "Would you like any... special services, then?"

"Oh, do you serve breakfast? Most important meal of the day, you know!"

Cherry hesitated again. "We have plenty of butter and jelly, sir, and we could probably rustle up some toast if that's what you'd like."

"Oh, excellent! I do love toast."

"Would you like to choose your girls right now?"

".... Sorry, what?"

The Doctor became aware behind him, Owen was practically choking from laughter, and gradually began suspecting that he and Cherry were having two entirely different conversations.

"Just a moment please," he said to Cherry the receptionist, and all but ran over to where Carrot was still being mobbed. He pushed his way though the girls enough to ask Carrot: "Where did you bring us exactly?"

"Er, just a moment ladies, please," said Carrot kindly. "This is the Seamstresses' Guild! I already told you."

"Seamstresses!" said Owen, then promptly collapsed in another fit of laughter.

"Really, it's not that funny," said Sarah Jane, rolling her eyes. 

"It is!"

"Ladies, I'm very glad to see you all too," said Carrot diplomatically to his mob. "Miss Dolly, would you please see if Mrs. Palm is in? And if so, could I request a short audience with her?"

"Yes, Captain!" The addressed girl ran off, still giggling.

"Who are these people, Carrot?" asked another girl.

"They're just friends who are in the area for a short time," explained Carrot. "They need a place to stay is all."

"Are we where I think we are?" said the Doctor, who was not very pleased about having been ignored. 

"What do you mean?" asked Carrot.

"You brought us to a brothel!" managed Owen.

"A brothel? Oh, no! You misunderstand. This is the _Seamstresses'_ guild."

"They're not wearing a whole lot for women who are supposed to sew clothes," said Sarah Jane.

Carrot's response was cut off by the arrival of an attractive older woman. She was large, and wore an even larger dress with a very low neckline. 

"Carrot! How nice to see you, boy," she said, and even her voice was large. 

"Mrs. Palm!" said Carrot, who looked quite relieved to see her. 

"Now, tell me, what is all this fuss about?"

"This is Sarah Jane Smith, Owen Harper, and the Doctor, Mrs. Palm, and they're in need of someplace to stay for the night. You wouldn't happen to have an open room or two they and their friends could use, would you? As a favor to me."

"Hmmm," said Mrs. Palm as she appraised them.

"We can pay," added the Doctor quickly. "We don't have any traditional money, but we can pay using other means." Mrs. Palm raised an eyebrow and glanced at Sarah Jane. "I mean, I'm sure we could give you something else to compensate," the Doctor clarified.

"Well, all right," said Mrs. Palm. "The Captain has been a big supporter of the guild, and a good friend, after all. We can spare two rooms for tonight. How many more will be staying, besides you three?"

"Just three, I think. Two women and one man," said the Doctor.

"What about Wilson and Archimedes?" asked Owen. "Are they going to be okay staying in the TARDIS all night?"

"Oh, they'll be fine!" 

"If you say so...."

"Well, I've really got to be getting back to the Watch House," said Carrot. "I'll check back in a couple hours, but you are of course free to do whatever you like. You're no longer in custody."

"Do come visit more often, Carrot," said Mrs. Palm. "My girls like to see you."

"I will," Carrot promised, and then he was gone.

"We'll have the rooms ready for you in an hour. You can come back then," Mrs. Palm told the Doctor. 

"Thank you, again," said the Doctor as they stepped out.

For a moment, they all stood on the steps in front of the gaudy, pink door. 

"Well, now what?"

".... Did anyone else notice that Tosh isn't here anymore?"

".... Huh."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Tosh woke suddenly, feeling the familiar disorientation associated with coming out of a good sleep. She blinked blearily at the many shades of pink surrounding her until they swam reluctantly into focus. 

The next thing she became aware of was the sound of voices and clinking dishes coming from downstairs and she leapt out of bed, suddenly excited. She'd almost forgotten! Today was her birthday! She was turning nine, and that was really cool because nine was only one away from ten, and ten was double digits! She brushed her teeth, threw on the pretty sundress her mother had left out for her the night before--yellow with little pink flowers--and rushed downstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

Mum was bustling around the kitchen, which was filled with sunlight and the smells of bacon and pancakes. Papa, home from the base for the weekend, was sitting at the small kitchen table with a mug of coffee and the daily crossword, and he looked up and smiled when she walked in.

"Good morning!" she said, and Mum and Papa both echoed the greeting brightly. 

A small pile of presents wrapped in colorful paper sat invitingly on the table in front of Papa. 

Tosh sat down at the table and smoothed out her sundress as Mum placed a plate full of pancakes and bacon in front of her. She happily doused it in syrup.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," said Mum, ruffling her hair.

Breakfast was usually a formal affair, with only herself and her mother present. She was never allowed to come down without being fully dressed, and usually all she got was bland oatmeal or cereal. Her birthday was always special. She still had to get dressed before coming down, but Papa always came home and they always had something yummy to eat. 

After breakfast, Tosh was allowed to open her gifts. She opened each one gingerly, taking care not to rip the paper more than she had to. Mum liked to reuse wrapping paper; it was less expensive. She got a nice card and twenty dollars from Grandmother and Grandfather, a book on Topological maps from Aunt Betsy, a brand-new 3D puzzle of a castle from Uncle Rudolph, and a volcano-making kit from her parents. 

As she sat beaming at her presents, someone knocked on the door.

"Trevor!" She shot off her chair like a rocket and ran to open the door. A disheveled boy missing several of his teeth grinned back at her from the other side. She thought she saw something small and black dart into the bushes out of the corner of her eye but dismissed it.

"Hi Tosh!" 

"Hello Trevor," said her mother, always the perfect host. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"No ma'am! I already ate breakfast! I'm just here to get Tosh so's we can go play outside!" Trevor always spoke with exclamation points.

"Well, all right, but be careful! Tosh, don't come back covered in mud this time...."

"I won't Mum!" Tosh waved to her mother as she skipped out of the house after Trevor.

There was a playground nearby, which was where they usually went to play. It had an excellent pair of swings, a slide, a jungle gym, and there weren't a lot of other kids in the neighborhood, so they were usually left to their own devices. 

On the way over, Tosh found a very nice stick. It was long and thin, with a fine point, but sturdy as well. She hated it when her sticks broke. 

Trevor immediately went for one of the swings, like he always did, and Tosh squatted in the sand surrounding the playground. 

"Happy birthday, Tosh!" said Trevor, as though he had just remembered. Tosh was surprised he'd remembered at all--he almost always came over on weekends, so his visit was nothing special. 

"Thanks, Trevor," she said.

"Hey, you know what?" said Trevor. "For my last birthday, which was two months ago, which means I'm older than you--" Before they reach their teens, age is the most important thing to a child, followed by name. "--I got a dinosaur! He was a T. rex! I named him Fritz!"

"I remember," said Tosh. Her stick traced elegant lines in the sand. "I told you that was a stupid name for a dinosaur."

"It was not a stupid name!"

"Was too. Dinosaurs should have fearsome names. Fritz is not a fearsome name."

"Is so! I'm very scared of people named Fritz!"

Their Literature teacher was named Mrs. Fritz. 

"You name all your dinosaurs Fritz, though."

Trevor had never been a great reader.

"Not so! I named my Stegosaurus Leroy!"

Leroy was the name of their gym teacher. Trevor liked gym, and he also liked Stegosauruses. Whenever his Stegosaurus and T. rex battled, the Stegosaurus always won. 

"Why don't you have any girl dinosaurs?" Tosh asked.

"Don't be stupid! There's no such thing as a girl dinosaur!" Trevor scoffed.

"_You_ don't be stupid! How did they reproduce then?"

"They laid eggs, dummy!"

"Boys can't lay eggs! Only girls can!"

"Fine!" said Trevor, who was at least bright enough to recognize a lost battle. "I'll name my next dinosaur... uhh..."

"Gwen," said Tosh, then wondered where the name had come from. 

"Fine, I'll name my next dinosaur Gwen," agreed Trevor. He went back to swinging with enthusiasm and, after a minute, Tosh went back to drawing in the sand.

Trevor was a bit simple, but Tosh liked him. He liked her too, which made him all the more special. Not many people her age liked her. She stuck out. 

Several minutes passed in silence. Eventually Tosh said, "I saw something interesting on TV yesterday."

"Hmmm?"

"There's a theorem in mathematics, it's called the Four Color Theorem, and even though people have known it's true for centuries, no one can prove it. It says that any map at all, any map you can think of, can be colored so that no two touching areas are the same color, using only four colors."

Trevor hummed to let her know he was listening. That was another thing about Trevor she liked--he could be loud and obnoxious, but he also knew when to let her speak.

"Cartographers, that is, people who draw maps, have known this for centuries, but no one has ever been able to prove it. There's a pretty simple proof for five colors, though. I was able to recreate it myself yesterday."

All of this was clearly going right over Trevor's head, but it didn't matter. She just needed someone else there. It helped her think to be able to say her ideas out loud."

"I wonder if I could prove the Four Color Theorem."

Her stick began to make quicker, more focused patterns in the sand. Occasionally she'd brush parts out, and on one occasion she smoothed over everything she'd written and started over completely. This went on for a couple hours. Trevor swung and she drew in the sand and babbled mostly to herself.

Around noon, Trevor took a flying leap off the swings, and went to find his worn red backpack. 

"My mama packed lunch for us!" he said brightly, offering her a peanut butter & jelly sandwich and a juice box. She took it and grinned back at him, a little thankful for a break. She kicked the sand out of her sandals and sat down on a bench. He sat next to her and pulled out a ham sandwich for himself. 

At the smell of ham, a small black cat came out from its hiding place under the bench and pawed at Trevor's leg. 

"Oh, so cute! Who do you belong to?" gushed Tosh, reaching down to pet it. It tolerated her hand but ignored her in favor of Trevor. Trevor generously offered it some ham.

They sat in silence for a little while. Tosh's legs didn't quite reach the ground, and she swung them idly back and forth. "Need help with your math homework?" she asked him eventually. Trevor wasn't very good at math either.

"Yeah," he said. "I don't understand fractions! Why do I got to subtract division? It doesn't make any sense."

She giggled. "Subtracting fractions is easy once you get the hang of it. Come over tomorrow and I'll teach you." The cat purred at them.

"Whew! I always learn much easier when you explain it, Tosh!" 

Satisfied that he wasn't going to fail his math homework, Trevor bolted down the rest of his sandwich and darted back over to his favorite swing. Tosh had once asked him why he spent so much time on the swings. He told her he was trying to get high enough to go all the way over the top. She told him that was silly and tried to explain why, but he was convinced that if he tried hard enough he could do it. She eventually let it be.

Tosh went back to her proof, which had turned into a giant, sprawling mess of computations. Now it had some footprints in it too, where Trevor had forgotten to look where he walked. She smiled despite herself, then got a new idea. She quickly erased the whole thing and started over again.

This time it was Trevor's turn to babble as he attempted to swing his swing over the top of the bar, about everything and anything but mostly about dinosaurs. 

"Yesterday Fritz the T. rex and Fritz the Velociraptor got in a fight over whose turn it was to come with me to school, but luckily Leroy was there to stop them! So I brought Leroy with me instead!" 

Leroy always ended up coming to school with Trevor. Tosh nodded and finished a quick computation. 

It was nearing dusk when she finished. She rubbed her eyes and looked at Trevor, whose swings had been getting less enthusiastic as he got more and more tired, then checked her work one last time. Satisfied that she really had found a viable proof, she carefully wrote Q.E.D. in the sand with her stick. 

"I finished!" she said proudly. Trevor perked up.

"Of course you did! You always get 'em! What was it again?"

"The Four Color Theorem."

"Right! That!"

Tosh beamed at him. 

"Tosh! Time to come in, sweetheart," called her Mum, who had just walked down the road to get her. "It's getting dark."

"All right, Mum," she said, brushing herself off.

"Do you need us to walk you home, Trevor?" asked Mum kindly.

"No ma'am, I'll be okay, my home's only a block away."

"Well be careful, dear. Come on, Tosh. It's nearly suppertime."

Tosh waved goodbye to Trevor and followed her mum home, leaving her incredible proof there in the sand.

That was all right. She'd already solved it. She didn't need it anymore. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Shadows flitted through sunbeams where nothing blocked the light. They were swift and tiny disturbances, easy to mistake for motes of dust or tiny insects, except this was Death's domain, and neither existed here.

ALBERT, Death called.

His butler, a former wizard named Alberto Malich, jerked away, a line of drool flying from his face as his head darted about, searching for an intruder to menace with the broom in his hand. His comical reaction would have served to make Death appear even more dramatic if anyone was around to witness them. Death stalked past Albert with his sword in hand, its blade so thin as to be invisible, an atom's width of blue light sharper than any weapon ever made. His black robes flowed around him like water, and it swept Albert up in its wake.

"What's going on?"

THEY ARE HERE.

"I don't see anything." Albert crashed into him from behind as Death stopped in the foyer. The doors opened by themselves, and in the distance, a void of white light grew, appearing about the size of a coin but surrounded by a corona of lightning that seeped into horizon and kept on going. The wizard wheezed as a sharp intake of breath sucked his cigarette down his windpipe. For a brief moment, he resembled the ducks by the pond, thrashing as they choked on the skeletal fish, but Death smacked him on the back and the roll flew from his mouth, flopping onto the ground, a limp piece of wet, unraveling paper.

Death put forward an open palm and the air rippled like water. Spreading from his hands, a wrinkled image of Ankh-Morpork appeared before them. NO... For the briefest of moments, Albert would have sworn emotion tinged that echoing voice. For a moment, the sleep of eternity knew despair, and nightmares threatened its peace.

Tinkling echoed from afar, the sound of little sleigh bells and children playing chimes too enthusiastically. It was a strange herald of apocalypse, but Death had no expectations, so life was not obligated to conform. The two of them raced through the house, their clothing billowing like war banners in the wind. They soared through the hall of life-timers, and the sand that flew around them was not dust from their feet.

Their dash ended in a special room, hidden apart from the main halls. Hourglasses lined the shelves, but each had special shapes, or carvings, and most were far larger than usual. This room was reserved for special beings, gods and demons, anthropomorphic personifications and heroes that defied death.

Recently, Death had gathered a few more timers here, ones that glowed and sparked when touched. These overflowed with life, burst with creative energies. It had taken Death centuries to reach the realization that some mortals, though their lives looked the same as anyone else's from afar, held the fabric of Discworld's existence together. Through their words and actions, they inspired others, drove ordinary masses to greatness, led minds and bodies to imaginative heights that were otherwise unattainable. They were pillars that held up the belief field of Discworld, and without them, it would crumble. And on Discworld, as belief went, so did reality.

Now, they were shattering. One by one, the timers burst, and glass fell like rain. Sand fell in waterfalls, leaking and splashing like blood. The light of the hourglasses flashed and faded, bulbs burning out in one final brilliant burst. The failures cascaded, and Death could do nothing but watch as a storm of destruction rushed toward the life-timer in the center of the room, a moderate-sized one that looked humble in the shadow of Om, but the only one whose light never faded, never even flickered, the one that could be a second sun if ever let loose from Death's domain. Elaborate curls embellished the gold script that ran across its curves, spelling out a single name (well, actually, two, as he'd changed his middle name after his last encounter with Death, hoping to avoid a repeat incident): Ronald Tutankhamen-Tiberius Daniels.

His timer broke, and the manor shuddered as cracks shot up its walls. Dust and plaster poured down, announcing the collapse of the roof.

COME WITH ME IF YOU WANT TO LIVE. Death snatched Albert's arm and dragged him away. The spray of glass narrowly missed him as they dodged out of the room. In the main halls, the shelves remaining remarkably stable amidst the collapsing architecture. By the time they returned to the front door, the sky formed a gaping hole in the roof, and lightning crackled from hemisphere to hemisphere, like the heavens were ready to break apart but couldn't decide how.

"What's going on?" Albert demanded. His hands clutched the jacket pocket where his own life-timer resided, and the tips of his fingers were white.

Death didn't respond. Instead, there was a flash of blue light, and they teleported into Ankh-Morpork. Albert stood, dazed, for about a grand total of twenty microseconds before pulling out the life-timer and bringing it up to his eyes. His mouth was open, ready to berate Death for planning to kill him--something which, despite all his protestations that he didn't kill anyone, Albert always believed was highly likely--but the grains of sand were frozen in place.

By the time he breathed a sigh of relief, Death had pushed through the front door of the nearby house, and Albert dashed after him, still determined to get an answer. As he rushed in, the floor betrayed him, abruptly becoming a slick and squeaky surface that sent him into the ruthless embrace of gravity.

"What the--" Even without looking, he could tell the sticky wetness on his hands was blood. When he did finally look, he found a trail of red littered with pieces of skin that ended in a man-shaped blotch on the wall. It was as though the killer had struck the victim so hard, he shattered on impact, but the force created enough momentum to send the remains flying across the room until they met something tall and solid. "This would've taken an incredible amount of magic to accomplish."

OF COURSE. IT APPEARS I WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO PREVENT IT, EVEN IF I HAD BEEN ON TIME.

"_Prevent_ a death?"

Death slashed his sword across the wall, causing the top half to dislodge and crumble. IT WAS NOT HIS TIME.

The shade of Ronald T. Daniels appeared to assemble itself from the myriad remains scattered around the room, a sight not unlike fog coalescing. "You!" His pointed finger went through Death's right eye socket, causing him to yelp and leap backward. "I knew it! Someone breaks into the house, it's obviously you. What do you want this time, huh? You got a piece of the moon that you want me to pretend is cheese?"

YOU'RE DEAD.

"You can't threaten me! I've been reading up on you. There's nothing you can do to convince me not to kill off Yummy-toes, and I don't care how much you like his dynamic with Hack. In any case, the rumors are all absolutely false. Utter rubbish."

I AM NOT SUSAN. I DO NOT CARE ABOUT FLAMING BUSHES, AND THE USHER WOULDN'T LET ME IN THE ONE TIME SHE BOUGHT ME A TICKET. HE SAID I WAS TRYING TO SNEAK ROTTEN VEGETABLES IN UNDER MY ROBES, AND THEN HE ASKED ME TO STRIP. I WOULD LIKE TO NOTE THAT I DO NOT SMELL LIKE ROTTEN VEGETABLES.

"It's _Firetree_!"

WHAT DO ROTTEN VEGETABLES HAVE TO DO WITH KLATCHIAN HERBOLOGY?

"I mean the play! It's called _Firetree_, not _Flaming Bushes._"

I APOLOGIZE.

"Look," Albert cut in, "I don't give a damn about exploding trees or driftwood. You're dead, that's what's left of you, deal with it."

The playwright gaped for a moment. "That looks like a horrible way to die. It'll be sensational! It'll be all over the paper!" His tone sounded gleeful, but Death thought it might be hysteria. He was never good at judging emotions.

IT WILL CERTAINLY BE PAINFUL.

"But why am I dead? I've been cut off in my prime, at the height of my fame! Why, cruel fate, why?"

FROM WHAT SUSAN HAS TOLD ME, YOU SHOULD BE QUITE FAMILIAR WITH SENSELESS KILLING.

"Wait, what was that you said about pain?"

YOUR DEATH WILL BE QUITE PAINFUL.

"But I'm already dead!"

YES, BUT YOU WERE STRUCK BY A FORCE QUITE INTENT ON REMOVING YOUR IMAGINATION FROM DISCWORLD'S BELIEF FIELD. NOW THAT YOUR PHYSICAL PRESENCE IS GONE, THE FIELD WILL IMPLODE UPON YOU. THERE WILL BE INTENSE PAIN. I BELIEVE THE IDIOMATIC DESCRIPTION WOULD BE 'MIND BOGGLING.' YES, IT WILL BE EXCRUTIATING AND 'MIND BOGGLING.'

"What? _What_?"

AND ONCE THE BELIEF FIELD COLLAPSES, DISCWORLD ITSELF WILL SHATTER AND ALL THINGS WILL DIE.

"WHAT?" Daniels and Albert exclamated (sic) at the same time. Albert, however, had the presence of mind (in addition to having more presence than Daniels, period) to add: "_Why?_"

I DO NOT KNOW. IT MAY BE POSSIBLE THAT THE KILLERS DESIRE TURTLE SOUP, BUT MORE LIKELY, THEY HAVE GAINED IN POWER AND SEEK TO WIPE OUT THE DISC TO CEMENT THEIR ASCENSION AS MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE.

"_Aaauuuurrrghgbbluurrblbebblebeep!_" Daniels screamed as he collapsed, blubbering in pain and fading out of sight. A distant rumble preceded ominous shaking of the ground.

THE FAILURE HAS BEGUN.

"And there's nothing we can do? It sounds like you had the foresight to predict this eventuality!"

I SAW THE POSSIBILITY, BUT I DO NOT HAVE THE POWER TO REMEDY IT.

As color drained away, the world wavered, twisting as though behind a curtain of heat. Albert's face turned pale to match, but they weren't witnessing the end. Not yet. Rather, hundreds of transparent grey robes filled the room, each one draped over a formless, invisible body.

"The Auditors!" And Albert had been certain the day couldn't get any worse.

ARE YOU READY? Death asked the closest cloak.

It spoke: We register our disapproval, but the consensus agrees it must be done.

"What must be done?" Albert asked.

THE AUDITORS CONTROL EVERYTHING. NOW, THEY WILL, I BELIEVE THE PHRASE IS, 'COOK THE BOOKS.'

"That doesn't explain anything."

Daniels will be wiped from existence, the Auditors said. If he never existed, he never sustained the belief field. He cannot die and he cannot cause the world to end.

The robes fluttered in a wind only they could feel. It grew stronger and stronger until it whipped them about, blending them together and sending them swirling around Death and Albert like water going down a drain. Faster and faster they whirled, becoming a solid wall that grew darker and darker, all the while drawing together, each orbit smaller than the previous. All at once, they vanished, leaving in their place a soft sigh.

It is done.

Despite the fact that Ronald T. Daniels had never lived in this house, the décor was still the same, minus the mess of remains. THE HOUSE MUST BE PRE-FURNISHED, Death observed.

"Yes, I wonder who lives here," Albert replied, injecting his voice with as much sarcasm as he could manage.

Death tilted his head. I BELIEVE WE ARE ABOUT TO FIND OUT.

The floor rumbled, and Albert was ready to accept that the intervention hadn't worked when an orangutan came bounding down the stairs. He paused when he noticed the unexpected visitors.

"Ook, ook?"

Albert glared. "In my day, I would never have tolerated a m—"

HE REQUESTS YOU REMAIN CIVIL AND REFER TO HIM AS AN APE RATHER THAN A MONKEY.

"I see..."

"Eek!"

"What's he saying now?"

BANANA? Death translated as the orangutan found two bananas from somewhere on his person, even though he was wearing no clothes.

"No, I want to know that if Daniels isn't keeping the belief field stable, who _is_? Because I have the feeling I won't like the answer."

LIKE THE HOGFATHER INCIDENT, DANIELS' ABSENCE REQUIRES A NEW CREATIVE FORCE TO FILL THE VOID. HOWEVER, THE DAMAGE HAS STILL BEEN DONE; THE FIELD IS WEAKER, AND A NUMBER OF LESSER PARASITE DOMAINS HAVE BEEN LOST.

Albert groaned. "Like yours?"

THAT IS CORRECT.

"So where am I supposed to live now?"

SEVERAL GODS HOPE TO GAIN FROM THIS CATACLYSM. MOST HAVE CHOSEN HUMAN PLENIPOTENTIARIES TO CONVERT NON-BELIEVERS.

"How is that remotely creative?"

INDEED, THE SERIOUS AND DOUR NATURE OF MOST CONVERSIONS LEAVE MUCH TO BE DESIRED. THERE IS ONE ROLE, HOWEVER, THAT IS BOTH POWERFUL AND CAPABLE OF SPARKING IMAGINATION LIKE NOTHING ELSE.

"And that would be?"

LOVE.

"You have got to be kidding me."

THINK ABOUT HOW MUCH TIME THE AVERAGE MORTAL DEVOTES TO THE PURSUIT OR LOSS OF LOVE. IT IS REMARKABLE. IT IS THE STUFF OF GREAT TALES. ANYONE REPLACING DANIELS MUST BE CAPABLE OF GENERATING SUCH FERVOR. THE GODDESS ASTORIA IS STILL SEEKING A HUMAN TO REPRESENT HER.

Albert gaped. "You're pawning me off to Astoria? How the hell am I supposed to inspire love?"

AS SUSAN HAS DEMONSTRATED MANY A TIME, THE ROLE DOES NOT HAVE TO FIT THE MORTAL, THE MORTAL IS BENT TO FIT THE ROLE.

"And what, exactly, is the role?"

ASTORIA WISHES TO REVIVE THE ANCIENT ART OF THE ALLURING COURTESAN.

Albert, once the great Alberto Malich, renowned and feared wizard, old man who could out-curse a sailor, out-fry baby shrimps, and out-elf the Hogfather's elves, came up with no better response than to stare and imagine himself decorated with jewels and covered with perfume, seducing all manner of clients while whispering sexy nothings in their ears: _My hips aren't as arthritic today…_ "Good god."

GODDESS, Death corrected.

"I have no choice, do I?"

YOU COULD DIE. Death showed him the sword.

"No, no, no," Albert said hastily. "I'll do it. Or them. Or everyone. Whatever or whoever Astoria wants."

SHE ASSURES ME IT WILL BE AN ENJOYABLE EXPERIENCE.

"I'm _so_ excited."

*Captain Vimes has an idea, but that was another story.


	32. Chapter 24: The Water's Edge

**Chapter 24**

**The Water's Edge**

As Adric regained consciousness, a tangled black and white blur resolved into Susan's snoring visage, and he yelped as he realized he lay beside her with his arms wrapped around her. He rolled away. The ground squelched and covered him with mud before dropping out from under him, sending him tumbling into water. He gasped at the shock of cold, taking in a mouthful of the Rhine, but by then, his panic had woken Susan, and she grabbed him by the back of his shirt to haul him back ashore.

"_Where are we_?" she snapped as she set him down on the bank. "The last thing I remember is you getting snatched by tentacles and me running through the woods after you."

"That's the last thing I remember too!" he replied. They contemplated their mutual amnesia in silence before Adric suggested, "Maybe the tentacles got you too."

"I have never heard of anything with tentacles capable of wiping people's memories." She looked around, reminding Adric to take in their surroundings as well. They stood on a mix of sand and mud that angled into the river. To the left, the Schneider castle stood on a cliff, separated from them by water. As the Rhine seemed to flow between them and land on his right as well, he concluded they were on an island, albeit a large one, as trees grew up further back from the water's edge and land extended far enough that he couldn't guess at the shape of its boundaries. "Besides, how did we get onto an island? Something must have happened and someone doesn't want us to know."

"By saying you've never heard of tentacles capable of wiping people's memories, that suggests you're familiar with tentacles."

"We've already established I come from a strange world."

Adric kicked a pebble into the rushing water. "I don't know if we can swim back. The current looks strong." Then he realized his foot didn't hurt. "Hey, my foot's better!"

Susan grabbed his shirt and lifted it. "You should be bruised after those tentacles dragged you through half the forest. Nothing."

They didn't have time to ponder the implications, though. "_Eeeeee!_ There they are!" a woman's voice cried out, causing Adric to jump. Susan pointed at a dark shape moving toward them through the water, their features vaguely visible beneath the pink dawn.

"Ah, my friends! Yodel-ay-hee-hoo!" Siegbert waved at them from atop Beatrice as the cow dutifully paddled toward the island with her two owners on her back. Although she seemed to be struggling a little, she covered the remaining distance in less than three minutes and clambered ashore looking characteristically bored. Adric held out a hand to help Edwynna off, and she bounded over to the grass where her shoes wouldn't sink into the ground.

"How did you two make it to Unicorn Rock?" Edwynna asked.

"Oh," Adric replied, "is it shaped like a unicorn?"

"No. Should it be?"

"Never mind that," Susan said. "Can the cow fit four?"

"I doubt it," Adric replied to her.

"What?" Edwynna asked.

"She asked if Beatrice could carry four," Adric explained.

"Oh no, no, no," Siegbert protested. "Beatrice stayed up all night! It's time for her to rest."

He patted the cow on her head, and she mooed, the sound trailing off as her eyes closed. Though she remained standing, it was evident she was no longer conscious. A thin line of spittle dripped from the corner of her mouth.

"Great." Susan turned and stalked off.

Adric didn't follow. "Where are you going?"

"To build a raft!"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"It is a perfectly sensible notion."

"I'm tired too," Edwynna remarked, stretching her arms into the air and yawning. "Siegbert?"

Her husband pulled a blanket out of his pack and unfolded it on the grass. "Here you go, my dear." The two of them settled down and fell asleep cuddled together.

"Wow, our heroes," Adric said before wandering off in the opposite direction from Susan, figuring that would be the fastest way of exploring the island.

After about twenty minutes of walking, he concluded it was a wholly unremarkable island. There weren't even unicorns present, for ridiculous as that notion might be, it could not be discounted, considering the other ridiculous things he took for granted. At that moment, he looked up from picking his way across a minefield of broken branches and froze. About a hundred yards away, the TARDIS spun slowly above the river like an ornament suspended from the sky. The 'Police Box' light was dim compared to the rising sun, but it drew his attention as if it shone a thousand times brighter. He'd never seen the Doctor park his TARDIS like that, though, just floating there, not moving, not disappearing, not materializing. It was as though it were... lost.

_I guess I didn't imagine the sound before the duel,_ he thought. But what could be going on inside, so close yet out of reach?

---------------------------------------------------------------

"I 'ink you boke my nose," the Doctor protested, flailing in place on the floor of the TARDIS. Finally, he retrieved the sonic screwdriver and activated setting three (it was an important setting), pointing the tip at his nose, and, taking a deep breath, snapping the cartilage back into place. "_Aaaaaaaaaaaauugh_!" he exclaimed. He sniffed loudly a few times and declared: "All better."

His assailant didn't respond, continuing to work the controls on the console. 

"I'm impressed." The Doctor wandered over, standing close enough to observe the intruder--well, intruder wasn't strictly the proper term as the Doctor had been the one who brought him on board--but out of reach. True, the hooded figure moved with inhuman speed but now that the Doctor expected it, he didn't think he'd be duped twice. "The TARDIS indicates you're an excellent pilot, and that's saying something considering most humans can't drive at all. You _are_ human, I'm pretty sure. BRAIN-enhanced, but that's been naturally occurring in 0.07% of the population since at least 8000 BC."

"Even so, these controls posed a significant challenge."

"I can imagine. I'm the Doctor, by the way."

"I'm the vampire."

"Oh, I love names that start with 'the.' Don't you, Rainart?"

Rainart groaned near the Doctor's feet.

"Get up, boy," the vampire nudged him with a boot. "I didn't hit you that hard."

"I beg to differ," Rainart muttered. He raised a hand, which the Doctor used to pull him to his feet.

"A good punch in the abdomen never hurt anyone," the vampire replied.

"Killed Houdini," the Doctor noted. When the other two stared at him, he shook his head. "Sorry, after your time."

"Despite the difficulty, I did figure out what you were doing. I apologize for reacting so precipitously, but one can never be too cautious. In any case, my presence muddled your tracker. I filtered out the distortions caused by my energy patterns and found your signal."

"It appears you did."

"I had a dream where someone who looked just like you was killing unicorns and drinking their blood," Rainart told the vampire.

"_Harry Potter_," the Doctor said. Again, the stares. "Even more after your time. I need to stop saying things like that."

"Your comment is uncanny in its relevance," the vampire said, "considering we are parked above the Rhine beside the island your sister likes to call 'Unicorn Rock.'"

"You know Edwynna?" Rainart said. His eyes narrowed behind his spectacles, as though he'd just realized the specimen under examination was poisonous.

"I know everyone. Go ahead, Doctor, take a look." The door swung open, and the view outside stopped on a castle.

"The Schneider castle," Rainart said.

"Where's Unicorn Rock?" the Doctor asked as he walked over. "Does it look like a unicorn? I love things that look like other things."

"It is out of sight behind us, and it does not."

"Nor is it a rock," Rainart added. "The topsoil is immensely rich and the sedimentary rock layer is in fact under water. Edwynna thinks Amorphous Blob Attacked By Acid Island doesn't have the same ring, though."

"It really doesn't." The Doctor dropped onto all fours and stared into the muddy water. "Could you lower the TARDIS twenty centimeters? Er, I mean, down another foot, please."

As the TARDIS descended, the water level appeared to rise, like the world was filling with water. The Doctor ran his screwdriver over the surface, leaving a trail of minute ripples. "You're right. The signal is right beneath us."

"It's underwater?" Rainart exclaimed.

"Quite right." The Doctor turned his head to look at the others as he spoke. As a result, he missed the cause of a loud splash. Something tugged his arm, and he pulled his hand back as a sharp sting tore across three of his fingers. "My screwdriver!" he screamed, staring at blood running from bite marks on his fingers. A wake of bubbles surfaced as a fish-like shape dashed away into the murky depths, the sonic screwdriver doubtless lodged in its stomach. "Why would it want my screwdriver?"

"You're bleeding, Doctor!" Rainart dashed over and wrapped a handkerchief from his pocket around the Doctor's hand. 

"I'm going after it!" The Doctor scrambled forward but Rainart grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled back with all his strength.

"No! Stay!"

"I like my screwdriver. Without it, I might actually have to work to get out of tight situations!" He attempted another dash toward the water, but this time, he was thwarted by the head of a wet and naked woman rising out of the Rhine. She was gorgeous, thick folds of skin draping over each other like luxurious velvet curtains. Gleaming, emerald eyes peered out of an alabaster face inset with ruby lips and gold hair. When she smiled, her entire body wobbled, promising an opulent production being set up behind those stage curtains, soon to be revealed for all the world to see. The water lapped against her breasts, but further down, the Doctor saw human skin transform to fish scales, ending in a fin that paddled back and forth.

"Who are you?" the Doctor asked. Being a Time Lord, he had the presence of mind to see through her alluring appearance, but Rainart was frantically patting down his hair and tucking in his sweater. Part of that attraction had to be BRAIN-generated; Marilyn Monroe might have evinced this sort of reaction from most men, but never the Doctor, and even the Doctor could feel parts of his body quivering to be closer to the mermaid. That hadn't happened around Marilyn Monroe except for the time Elvis sprayed her with an alien aphrodisiac. The Doctor still wasn't sure why it affected only Time Lords and kangaroos, but after the incident, he and Marilyn both vowed never to visit a zoo again.

"Call me Toots." The mermaid smacked her lips.

"I'm the Doctor. You, um, did you, perchance, eat--"

"Are you impressed I swallowed your tool? It was very long, and for a moment, I didn't think it would fit in my mouth, but then it just slid down my throat and oh, it was magnificent and delicious."

"I feel rather emasculated without it." The Doctor took in her girth. "I don't suppose there's any chance you're bulimic?"

"Trust me, the street inside me goes one way. Anything that comes inside, well, it's a very _tight_ system."

Rainart blibbered.

"I think Rainart has a question for you," the Doctor said.

"Wibble-nibble," the young man croaked. He tugged at his throat and swallowed. "How... does... _you know_, work?" he managed, making a circle with his left thumb and index finger and shoving his right hand at it. He squeezed his eyes shut and squeaked, "My inquiry being purely academic interest..."

"It doesn't," Toots replied. "The curse of being mermaids. Of course, we have pleasure centers in the back of--"

"_Deep Throat_," the Doctor cut in.

"_Meep_?" Rainart asked.

"Oh forget it."

"The image is _kind of hard_ to get out of my mind."

"She's just toying with you," the Doctor said. "The number of problems with that physiological setup is enormous."

"Are you sure? Oh, look what I did to your poor hand. Let me make it better." She unwrapped Rainart's handkerchief and stuffed the Doctor's fingers into her mouth, sucking hard on them. "Mmm, nom nom, _yes, oh YES_! Wiggle that nom nom!"

Rainart fainted, and the Doctor tugged his hand back. His fingers slipped out of her mouth with a _pop_. Toots pursed her lips as she surveyed the fallen German. "Men are weak."

"That was a particularly unfortunate joke," the Doctor admonished her.

"In beauty lies the seeds of great cruelty," the vampire remarked, not moving from the console. "I think you've seen enough." The vampire shifted a lever, and the doors slammed shut in the Doctor's face. A shudder ran through the machine as the central column rose and fell.

"_But my screwdriver!_" The Doctor threw open the door, ignoring that he would likely find the time vortex waiting for him. Instead, a village awaited him, and the sun was markedly higher in the sky. Panic gripped him, turning his breaths fast and shallow. He couldn't pilot the TARDIS accurately enough to get back to the right point in time, and who knew where the mermaid had disappeared to by now. She was doubtless on the lam, knowing he'd be hot in pursuit. "You!" he pointed his finger at the vampire. "You're in league with them!"

"You have an unhealthy fixation on your screwdriver," the vampire said. "I am not in league with the mermaids, but you should know they exist. That is all." Robes swished by the Doctor, and the vampire dragged Rainart out of the TARDIS. "Now, I believe someone should be passing through the village about now whom you will be interested in meeting."

But the Doctor was through listening to the vampire. He had gotten the Doctor's screwdriver lost for good. The only thing that'd make him feel better would be to find the _nachtis_ and convince himself the trip hadn't been a complete loss. He dashed to the console and slammed the doors on both of them. As the TARDIS dematerialized, he heard frantic pounding on the frame, but he ignored it. Not until he landed the TARDIS back beside the Rhine to search for the _nachtis_ did he realize the bite marks on his fingers were gone.

---------------------------------------------------------------

When the TARDIS stopped spinning with the doors facing away from Adric's direction, he knew there was no point in waiting for the Doctor. Besides, the Doctor had told him that their paths would diverge. He trusted the Doctor to look for him when the time was right, so he didn't call out for the Time Lord. Part of him protested, stamping its foot and demanding he grab the Doctor's attention. He forced that voice away and turned from the blue box. As he did so, the sun glinted off a line of turbulence that was too straight to be natural. It extended to the island from a point on the shore between the two castles.

Curious, he circled back the way he'd come until he found the point where the line hit the island's shore. "Huh," he said. The turbulence came from pillars of rocks that rose to just beneath the surface. It wasn't a sandbar but a porous system of stones that formed a flat if somewhat perilous path of steps perfect for an adult with average stride. There was little chance the formation was natural; more jagged, and he might believe, but this was a highway of sorts. Who would want to build such a path and why they'd want easy access to the island were questions Adric didn't have sufficient information to answer, but he wasn't about to wait half a day to get back to the castle.

Water streamed over his shoes as he took a ginger step onto the first rock. The current tugged but wasn't enough to threaten his footing. In fact, the height of the pillars struck a perfect balance between usability and visibility, allowing someone to walk across while hiding the means unless the sun was at the perfect angle. Nodding to himself, he went to find Susan.

She waited back where Edwynna and Siegbert slept. "Did you find anything?" she asked. 

"I found a way back."

"You mean the stepping stones?" Edwynna said. Her eyes remained closed, but now that he knew she was awake, Adric could see her breaths weren't quite as even as would be normal for someone sleeping.

"You know about them?" Adric knew he should be annoyed, but somehow, he didn't even feel surprised. Susan sighed and leaned against the cow.

"Yes, I was going to tell you about them, but then I fell asleep, and when I woke up, you were gone."

"We didn't think you'd wake up so fast."

"I'm very good at power naps."

"We all are," Siegbert said, his eyes closed as well.

"Are they _all_ awake?" Susan asked. She smacked the cow, who mooed and continued drooling.

"How do you know about the stones?" Adric asked Edwynna, feeling upstaged by her statement.

"I saw someone use it, but I don't think she'd be happy if she knew I knew."

"We should go now, but Beatrice can't use the steps. Can you swim her across after us?"

"She's ready to go now!" Edwynna opened her eyes and jumped up. Her husband and her cow followed suit.

"Are we sure Siegbert is the reason she got disowned?" Susan asked as they set off.

"Don't be mean."

---------------------------------------------------------------

Torchlight was terrible for the eyes. Karin didn't understand why her mother wouldn't let anyone read at night but had no similar qualms about embroidering. On the other hand, the two of them weren't awake at five in the morning because they loved needle and thread. If anything, the torches needed to be dimmer--their true mission was keeping watch until all the Schneiders had returned from the forest, and it didn't help that the light affected their night vision.

"Good," Rosa said, shifting her chair closer to the parapet of their turret, "there's uncle Viktor. I didn't even see him leave; a man his age shouldn't be wandering in the forest at night, but I suppose if your dead sister's husband gets murdered, honor calls."

"He could be sleepwalking," Karin said. "I'm out of red thread again."

Rosa sighed. "Darling, maybe if you just started out with red cloth--"

"The texture wouldn't look right."

"For blood?"

"Mother! These are roses spurting out of the elk."

"Yes, dear."

"So that leaves Huey, Gauthier, Susan, and Adric."

"Gauthier never left the castle. Ula knocked him out after she discovered he got blood on her dress."

"Then you should go to bed. The others can take care of themselves."

Her mother raised an eyebrow. "Our cousins are that resourceful?"

"Adric defeated Abelerd von Lahnstein in a duel."

"So your father told me, though it sounded like an accident. What's _your_ opinion?"

"They can take care of themselves."

Her mother studied her, then nodded. "Good enough for me." She stood and patted Karin on the shoulder. "Come, you need rest too."

"Ow!" Karin sucked on her index finger after her mother's sudden contact caused her to jab it with the needle. Several droplets of blood spilled onto her cloth.

"Now you don't need any more red," her mother said cheerfully.

"You go on ahead. I'll put the chairs away."

"The chairs can wait. You'll catch a chill up here."

"I'm still perfectly awake."

"You're not fooling me, Karin. I used to be a dancer--I know the limits of even a robust young lady."

"Hildegard's slept enough for both of us tonight."

"Your sister _fainted_."

"Which is just a deeper form of sleep."

"All right." Rosa sighed. "Sometimes, I don't know who's more headstrong, you or Ula."

"Ula is far more wicked than me." Karin planted a kiss on her mother's cheek. "Good night."

"Good _morning_." Rosa strode toward the staircase.

Karin watched her go, but before she could close the door, she called out after her. "Mother?"

Rosa peeked back out. "Yes, Karin?"

"Did grandfather ever go to sea?"

She smiled. "Oh, yes. Father may have been wealthy, but he wanted adventure more than money. He was a sailor in his youth, explored the whole world, yet the only keepsake he ever gave me was a pendant shaped like an anchor. I assume the rest of his trinkets are still with Conrad on the family estate; nothing of great worth, but they have sentimental value, especially now that he and mother are both gone."

"Perhaps Uncle Conrad can bring them when he comes for the funeral."

"Yes, that's a good idea. It'd bring back good memories. I've always meant to share more of my childhood with you." Rosa opened the door wider, stepping back through. "But whatever prompted such an unexpected question?"

Karin shrugged. "I was just thinking about him, and how little I knew about him, and it just struck my fancy that he might have traveled. It seemed... romantic."

"Romantic. That's something Ula would say."

"Well, we _are_ both trouble."

"Yes, dear. Get some rest." Her mother disappeared down the stairs, leaving Karin alone with her thoughts, and troubled thoughts they were, for unlike in the real world, that pirate flag still burned in her memory, and nothing she did could extinguish it from her mind.

"Grandfather, what did you do?" she whispered.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"Come _on_." Ula stamped her foot against the dirt path. "Hurry up!"

Gauthier staggered under the weight of seven wicker baskets stacked eight feet high in his arms. "I swear, if I hadn't trained to run away to the circus, I'd drop these boxes on you right now. What the hell is in them?"

"Fish."

"_Fish_? Why are you making me carry a hundred pounds of fish to the village at five in the morning?"

"There's also vegetables and milk. In many parts of the world, it is customary to perform acts of charity for the less fortunate as a memorial to a dead family member."

"We don't live in any of those places, Ula."

"Don't you want to honor grandfather's life? Wait, of course you don't."

"Actually, I found my own way to remember grandfather."

"Really?" She wondered if Gauthier had some soft spot of properness under that disheveled exterior.

"You wouldn't approve."

"Really..." _Guess not._

"Want to know how?"

"_No!_" Knowing him, he'd probably dressed all the scarecrows in the shooting range as Imre. _Let's commemorate his death by killing him again!_ "Just focus on carrying the fish. It's expensive halibut."

"Not that I oppose feeding the poor, but did you have to steal from mother's expensive stores? She'll throw a fit."

"It wouldn't mean much if we didn't sacrifice something important!"

"You could promise the mayor your firstborn."

"He already has seven children!"

"Sixteen, actually. He has four mistresses. You'd be the fifth."

"_Gauthier!_"

"You thought bringing me along would punish me for throwing you into Imre's blood and knocking you out, but you're only hurting yourself."

"I'm not talking to you anymore."

"You just did."

"Did not."

"Did it again."

"Shut up!"

"You first."

---------------------------------------------------------------

Siegbert skipped alongside Beatrice, belting out a dreadfully cheery folk song in time with the jingling of his bells. Edwynna hummed in harmony with him, swaying her dress side to side as they proceeded down the forest path. They'd crossed the river about half an hour ago, and the couple promised to bring Adric and Susan to the village where they lived. Once they were refreshed, they'd send them down the road to the Schneider castle.

"It is not normal to be so cheerful this early in the morning," Susan said.

"But it's not abnormal," Adric replied.

"What?"

"Say you define normal as everyone within one standard deviation of the mean. Even if sixty-eight percent of people can be considered normal, a value high enough to be considered a supermajority, that still leaves thirty-two percent of the population, or sixteen percent on either end of a bell curve, neither of which is a small number. While traveling with the Doctor, I've found that a behavior is usually limited to less than four percent of a population before people think of it as abnormal, and often, that range is less than one percent when a society is more tolerant of eccentricity."

"Adric?"

"Yes, Susan?"

"Let's make a deal. You stop breaking everything down to logic and mathematics, and I stop trying to convince you that the world doesn't operate that way."

"But--"

"While friendly discourse is a good way of promoting interpersonal relationships, it is not sensible to focus on irreconcilable opinions."

They walked in silence for a while. Silence filled with yodeling. "I like clouds," Adric suddenly said. Susan stared at him. He returned her look with wide-eyed sincerity. "Do you like clouds?"

"I suppose. They provide shade."

"I agree!" He paused. "You're right, Susan, I feel closer to you already."

"That's a trick I'd expect from an eight-year-old."

"Do you like shoes?"

"Ok, fine! We can talk about whatever we like."

"You don't like people confronting you."

"Does anyone?"

"But you're fine confronting other people."

"So?"

"Isn't that a little hypocritical?"

"It is not hypocritical to take control of a situation."

"Hmm..."

"Oh, look!" Edwynna pointed. "We're here!"

Adric and Susan were a ways behind the other two. They'd fallen back because it would look weird if Adric kept talking to his supposedly idiot sister. Now, they sped up to close the distance, and they approached a bend in the path. Rounding the corner, the trees opened up to reveal a well-worn path leading to a cluster of wood and straw buildings too large to be considered huts but hardly the epitome of civilization.

At first glance, Adric counted some seventy structures, most of which appeared to be homes, though a few larger ones farther away might be the village center, assuming they had their own government rather than answering to the nobles. He was certain there were more buildings beyond, as he couldn't find the church, but the existing structures blocked his view.

Wagons rolled down the streets, streaming out of the village as farmers headed for their fields. Siegbert let out a ringing yodel as they approached, and one of the drivers reined his horses in. "Traugott!" Siegbert exclaimed.

The farmer tipped his hat. "Ah, the Neufelds! Did Beatrice run off again?"

"I'm afraid she had to bring _us_ home this time."

Traugott shrugged. "I'd love to chat, but I need to get going. The Lahnsteins are watching me."

"I thought you're on track to produce surplus this year," Edwynna said.

"I am." He grinned. "Finally. But you can never have too much of a good thing." He snapped the reins, and the wagon moved on.

"Traugott missed his quota the last two years," Siegbert said, shaking his head, which Adric supposed answered the question of whether the village was independent or not. "If he doesn't grow enough this year, the Lahnsteins will confiscate his land."

"That's horrible," Adric said. "The Schneiders don't do that, do they?"

"They haven't had such a situation yet," Edwynna replied. "Oh, Siegbert, if only they'd listen to you."

"Nonsense, your brother's the visionary behind it all."

"Rainart's a bookworm. You, my dear, have charisma."

"What are you talking AAH!" Adric said as Susan's fingers dug into his shoulder.

"The vampire's here," she said in a low tone.

"Where?"

"I sense him. He's... coming around that corner, there!" She pointed, and at that moment, a figure did appear, but it wasn't the robed form of the vampire.

"Speak of the devil," Edwynna said. "Susan's spotted Rainart!"

A disheveled young man staggered into the street as though pushed. Adric thought he recognized him from the duel yesterday; he'd been wearing that same maroon sweater and read a book through the entire affair. His utter disinterest in the fight was what had made Adric notice him.

"Oh, hello," Rainart said as Siegbert ran up to him, grabbed his arm, and dragged him over. He looked dazed, but Adric didn't think it had anything to do with his bookishness. Susan dashed to the intersection where he'd appeared but shrugged when she found no one.

"I'm Adric," Adric extended a hand, hoping Rainart wouldn't remember him.

Rainart snapped his fingers. "The Schneider cousin! Adric! That's your name! Ugh, it was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't remember! Where'd he go?"

"Where'd who go?"

"Never mind that," Siegbert said. "We were telling Adric about your brilliant plan for liberating the village from the greedy grip of aristocrats!"

"Ah, that," Rainart brightened. "I'm working on a treatise, _On the Importance of Relations Between the Noble and Peasant Classes_. It's about how the peasants must be allowed to own land, rather than just lease from the aristocracy. I also elaborate on the theory of collective bargaining, whereby labor contracts are negotiated by representatives of both parties, those hiring and those working, for all members of the group, rather than on an individual basis, which opens the process up to corruption and intimidation. Of course, the legal system must also reform to uphold the sanctity of contract and recognize the rights of all citizens as equal."

"I see..." Adric said, though he knew he didn't have the background in Earth history and sociology to understand.

Rainart mistook his hesitance. "It is perfectly natural for you to be wary of such significant change; my own family considers my views as bordering on heretical, and that's because they aren't yet aware of the bulk of my work. I daresay I'll be joining Edwynna in the village once they know. However, the reforms I propose benefit both classes, and if the nobility would just give it a try, I'm sure they would find peasants much more productive. Elevating others to our social station doesn't limit our opportunities, it expands them for the entire empire."

"Perhaps if our families came into the village more often and saw the peasants as more than production quotas," Susan prompted Adric.

He repeated her words, and Rainart grinned. "Exactly." His eyebrows shot up. "Have you been making your views known to the other Schneiders?"

"No, why?" Adric turned to follow his gaze and saw Ula in the doorway of a nearby house, dressed all in black save for white gloves, handing a bundle to a stunned-looking woman. From the portions poking out of the cloth, the contents appeared to be fish and carrots. Beside her, Gauthier scowled from behind a stack of baskets piled so high only his arms and legs were visible when he stood straight. In stark contrast with her mourning colors, his outfit was daffodil yellow.

"Ula?" Rainart called.

The housewife retreated back into the house, and as the door slammed shut, Ula looked over. "Rainart!" Her high heels forced her to pick her way carefully along the road, but she had an easier time of approaching than Gauthier, who nearly got run over by a wagon. "How's Baron?" she asked breathlessly as she arrived. With a huff, Gauthier dropped the boxes at his feet, causing a single fish to slip out of the top basket and plop onto Ula's hat, the brim catching and securing it in place. She squealed but regained her composure almost instantly. "Ah, good idea, Gauthier. It will let the peasants know I am distributing food."

Adric found the pair of eyes staring at him from the flat fish disconcerting, especially since they jiggled every time she moved her head. Rainart paid it no attention. "What are you doing?"

"Mourning my grandfather."

"By giving out food?"

"Charity is the highest calling," she said, throwing a hand against her forehead. The fish went cross-eyed.

"While I agree completely with the general sentiment, one might say there's an even higher calling than that. Charity might nourish the body, but freedom nourishes the soul."

Ula blinked. "I don't follow."

"Liberty. Equality! Can you not see how the peasants chafe under our rule?"

Two men walked past, laughing loudly. "Look at that sunrise!" one said. The other nodded. "It's a beautiful day to be alive!"

"Not really," Ula replied.

"In their hearts they do!" Rainart insisted.

She shrugged. "If you say so." Her gaze moved from Rainart to the next house. "Oh, look at the abominable condition of those shutters. How poor they must be!"

The others stared at the whitewashed shutters, gleaming under the sun with nary a crack in the paint or the wood. "Those shutters are fine," Rainart said.

Ula hit him on the arm. "You heartless man! And here I thought that all your talk might eventually make sense because you had kind-hearted intentions. I mean, just _look at those shutters_!"

"I am!" Rainart protested.

"Can't you see how they're swinging about?"

"That's the wind."

"_They should be bolted to the wall!_"

Rainart buried his face in his hands. "Ula, peasants use shutters in place of curtains. They're _supposed_ to swing loose so you can open and close them."

Her jaw dropped. "That's preposterous." The halibut's eyes took that as their cue to fall out and bounce onto the street. Adric jumped away as they rolled toward him.

"The shutters on our castles are decorative, but these are put to use."

"How horrible! No one should be so poor that they have to use their shutters as curtains! It's so, so unfashionable! We must help them immediately!" She stalked toward the house, but Gauthier had used the conversation as an opening to escape. "Gauthier! Where'd you go!"

Rainart grabbed the baskets and ran after her. "I'll help," he said, wobbling under the weight.

"Oh, Rainart, I knew you were a proper gentleman."

Susan grabbed Adric's shoulder again. "_Ow_! Stop that." But before he could protest further, he caught sight of a flash of brown in his peripheral vision. A gust of wind was followed by a _thump_ as the vampire landed behind him. Edwynna screamed.

"Why are all of you never where you should be?" the vampire asked. Seizing Adric's arm, he threw him onto his back and leapt into the air, carrying him off at superhuman speed back toward the Rhine.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Baron von Lahnstein whistled as he approached the river. His arm whirled, spinning the bundle that was his shirt and coat in his hands, its motion adding to the breeze that ran the chill morning air against his bare chest. It felt good, especially after the heat of his encounter with Huey Schneider. There was a crisp feeling to the air that left no doubt autumn was coming, and he liked that too. All the leaves changing colors brought a feeling of change and movement that none of the other seasons possessed, and while he didn't consider himself easily given to fancy, there was something appealing about the idea of falling away from the family tree and starting over.

Nevertheless, it was just a passing fantasy, and there were some leaves that he hoped would continue to cling to the tree for some time. One such leaf waited for him by the water, her pale hair and skin glowing under the morning sun, a stark contrast against the rushing black Rhine.

"Put some clothes on!" Annegret snapped when she caught sight of him. "Honestly, one would think you'd be more discreet about your affairs."

"I could say the same about you, auntie."

Her eyes gleamed as she pulled some woody chips out of her knapsack and popped one in her mouth. "Pah, mine's younger than yours."

"Cramp bark?" He eyed the pieces as she chewed.

"Want some?"

"I don't think I need it."

"Neither do I, but I like the taste. Dear lord, do I look that young to you? Maybe compared to your lover."

"Excuse me?"

"You men can't take any jokes. Except maybe that Doctor of Rainart's, he didn't seem too scared when Rainart told him you'd shoot him if he got near the river. Good old dependable Rainart."

"Doctor who?"

"Rainart's professor from the university."

"Why would he be interested in the river? You didn't show him the _nachtis_, did you?" Baron laughed when Annegret's cheeks reddened a little too much to be a side effect of the sunrise. "Oh auntie, you and your men. I don't know how you ever went for Lysanne."

"Lysanne's manly in her own way. More manly than your Huey anyway."

"If your insults continue to be so pathetic, I might think you approve." 

"Who says I don't approve? I just think you could do better. Someone with a brain, maybe? Someone who won't trip on his own sister's ice cube during a duel. You need to stop throwing fights just to avoid hurting your beloved's feelings, or people will get suspicious. Besides, I've found men behave better with a good beating every once in a while. I still have some rope--"

Baron threw his shirt at her. "There's such a thing as too much good advice."

"Men can't tell the difference between good advice and bad advice." She unfurled the balled up item of clothing and began washing it in the river.

"Why'd you call me here?"

"Because I don't want Addi eavesdropping on us. People's ears aren't supposed to get sharper with age."

"She has lots of practice."

"Lots of time and nothing to do. _That_ one really needs a man, if you ask my opinion."

Baron grinned. "Everyone needs a man."

"Naughty boy!" She splashed him. "In any case, I want you to keep people away from the river, and that includes Huey. There are dangers we should not tempt."

"Has _Galæsia nachtis_ developed a taste for live human flesh?"

"No," Lysanne said, sauntering out of the woods and slapping him across the back. He glared. No maid should be able to move so quietly in the forest, not with that massive white bow affixed to her waist anyway. "Got a match?"

Baron pulled a box out of his pocket and handed it over. She removed a pipe from between her breasts and lit it, the tobacco clearly already inside. A heart-shaped cloud of smoke puffed out of her mouth into his face. A few waves of the hand dispersed it, and he refused to cough even though she used the most abominable stuff he'd ever seen or smelled. _"It's from Montmartre,"_ she'd told him when he first asked.

"These are so handy," she said, groping her own bosom, the pipe between her teeth.

"That's not being manly," Baron remarked to his aunt, "just seductive."

"If you find it seductive, then it must be manly."

"I _don't_. I'm commenting."

Lysanne gave her breasts a good thwack and watched them jiggle back and forth. "It shouldn't concern you why you need to keep people away. It should be enough that Lady Lahnstein asks it."

Annegret put on that wicked smile she used when the conversation was over. "She has a point."

"It concerns me if I'm the one who has to patrol the river."

Lysanne and Annegret exchanged looks. "He is not," the maid said forcefully in her thick accent.

Annegret cackled. "He's pretty enough."

"He is not," she replied flatly.

"I know." Annegret shrugged. "Let's go before Rainart catches me out of bed."

"You want him to catch you _in_ bed?"

"The Doctor did, which is close enough. I'm sure Rainart was close behind."

Baron was amused to see Lysanne's jaw drop. He didn't think being caught in flagrante would faze her, but he guessed appearances could be deceiving. Very deceiving. When she caught him grinning, she slapped him across the face and sauntered away arm-in-arm with Annegret.

He sighed. Even considering that most of the aristocrats he knew were a little strange, his aunt was the strangest by far. That was part of why he liked her, but it also made for a rather frustrating relationship at times. Taking a seat by the river, he picked up his shirt, which Annegret had left drying on a log. He'd barely had time to dip his toes into the water when the rustling he'd been waiting for drew his attention.

Schneider pushed through the foliage. "Is the old bat gone?"

"Be polite when you talk about Great Aunt Annegret."

"What are you going to do, challenge me to a duel?"

Baron tightened a fist, then unclenched it, but he did it on the side of him that Huey couldn't see. Beyond that, he didn't respond.

"The silent treatment, eh?" Huey picked his way across the slick, moss-covered ground. "You're such a girl sometimes."

"You heard what she asked me."

"So I've got to stay away from the river because she thinks I should?"

"No, you need to stay away because I'm asking you."

"You believe her? She probably just wants you to clear out the place so she can have a romp with Frenchie."

"Will you respect the request or do I need to make you?"

"All right, all right! I'll stay away. Happy?"

Baron eyed him suspiciously. "You're just saying that because there's an hour before you have to get back to the castle."

"And what about tomorrow? See, Baron, I do have brains. Enough to think ahead twenty-four hours, anyway, and I've got to be _really_ thick if I'm going to let some old lady get in the way of my play time."

"When you put it that way, I almost want to leave you to the mercy of the river."

"Come on, stop taking everything so seriously." Huey unbuttoned his pants and let them fall. Baron rolled his eyes but grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the ground beside him. Huey grinned. "That's more like it."

---------------------------------------------------------------

He'd been tricked. The Doctor was certain of it. The TARDIS had run scans along the entire shore of the Rhine, both sides, for five kilometers each direction, and there were no unusual energy signatures other than that of the mermaids and the vampire. _Galæsia nachtis_ did not exist here.

"Of course," he muttered to himself. It was unlikely Annegret had made an elaborate fake, but why would she tell someone she'd never met before the secret of where it could be found? Perhaps she had gotten it secondhand and didn't know herself. Yet, why lie? Humans could be tricky at times, deceitful as well, but assuming he was a good judge of character, and he liked to think he was a good judge of character, Annegret would at least be tricky and deceitful in a logical manner.

For now, he was crouched by the water's edge, staring into its depths and wondering if Toots would appear. His recent companions would think he was moping, but the Doctor didn't mope. He was just intense. Yes, intense and deep, like the water. His screwdriver was probably undergoing intense digestive pressures deep inside the mermaid's formidable body, and that thought brought him close to moping, but he didn't, because that was simply impossible for a Time Lord to do.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" a voice screamed from above. Leaves dropped all around the Doctor, and he looked up in time to see a figure plummet through the canopy and fall on top of the Doctor.

"Oof!" the Doctor grunted as the impact sent him centimeters into the mud. His eyes focused on the face of the man lying on top of him, and he was stunned to recognize it. "Adric!" Instinctively, he threw Adric off himself, sending him tumbling meters on end. The Doctor scrambled to his feet, both hearts racing. "You're supposed to be dead!"

Adric's brows twisted together, and he opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. When he finally spoke, it was in a calm, flat voice. "Which one are you?"

"What? Oh. I've regenerated five times since you... since you died. Or so I thought."

"And you don't remember."

"Remember what?"

"Then..." Adric glanced up into the sky. "If you're going to listen, then at least do it openly."

The vampire dropped out of the trees. "I suppose you had something to do with this," the Doctor snapped.

The vampire snorted. "I don't bring people back from the dead, but I did bring him here to meet you. The two of you are connected. I can sense that. A sort of common energy that binds you together whenever you are close together. I figured you two would want to talk."

"That we do," Adric said coldly.

The vampire glared at the Doctor. "You ran away when I took you into the village where he'd be."

Adric stepped forward, adding his glare to the vampire's. "If you don't remember saving me, then you left me to die."

A human would have argued that his statement made no sense, but to the Doctor, it could only mean one thing, and it sent chills down his spine. This was bigger than an alien invasion, then, and Singapore was more than an isolated event. The things he'd discovered here in Germany should've confirmed it, but _Adric_. Adric being alive, that had ramifications far beyond Earth. It had consequences for the entire universe, past and present. The only way Adric could expect him to remember saving him would be if some time prior to his fourth regeneration, he had saved Adric before ever meeting him. Yet he didn't remember that event, and that meant his past was in flux. Something had tampered with time, and now that his own history had crossed with Adric again, that meant there was something waiting for him in his future, something that posed a threat only Time Lords could resolve. There were no more Time Lords.

"I didn't leave you to die," the Doctor said, trembling as the memories of Adric's death came flooding back. "You died before I could save you. I failed you, and going back in time to save you would've violated laws so deep that it would threaten the universe itself. The day I died, that is, the day my fifth incarnation died, the last thing I saw in my head was you. There isn't a single companion I meet that doesn't make me think of you, make me think twice before inviting or allowing them to come along with me, because I lost you. That doesn't make right what happened, that doesn't mean I deserve forgiveness for not showing up when you needed me most. Maybe I should've tried to return you to E-Space that day, maybe we should never have gone to Earth, but that's my curse. It's my past, and I can't undo it. I'm a Time Lord. The universe--past, present, and future--it's all there for me to see, to explore, to experience. But despite all that power, there are laws even I can't break. I can never go back to save you, and I will have to live with that until the day I run out of regenerations."

Adric's expression softened. A hint of betrayal still shone in his eyes, but it wasn't overwhelming. "You don't have to go back. Jamie McCrimmon saved me."

_Not me. Jamie._ Yet the Doctor couldn't help but grin. "Of course it'd be Jamie."

Somehow, that response was the right thing to say, and Adric gave him a tentative smile in return. "Why don't you remember?"

"That's the problem."

Adric nodded. "Of course. You explained it before I left with Death."

"Left with _Death_?" His hackles rose again. Something was still unsettling about Adric, but the Doctor was always suspicious about things he didn't understand. Well, not all things--most of them were puzzles he enjoyed--but this was tampering with timelines, danger on a large scale.

"The Death of Discworld."

"_Discworld_? Discworld is a myth, a legend. No one's ever been able to find it! And it's utterly absurd anyway."

"I guess someone did, but that's not important. Death said there is a force pushing the universe off its proper time track, and I have to travel with his granddaughter to stop it. And you, that is, the second you, explained that the time was not right for you to enter the equation, but that eventually, you would. I didn't expect it to take eight regenerations."

How different Adric was from the uncertain boy he'd known. From his appearances, he hadn't grown much since that fateful day over prehistoric Earth, but he had gained maturity far beyond his age. The Doctor supposed that could happen to anyone who died and came back to life--regardless of what had happened, Adric looked like someone who had faced death and not the Discworld variety. "I don't think it will. Events like this frequently involve more than one of my incarnations. In fact, I'm already on a mission with the Fourth Doctor that, with your information and things I've seen, looks like we're being pulled into events beyond our control. In either case, because history is in flux, I will not know what any of us do, because it has not happened yet, until it does."

Adric grimaced. "The mathematics of time is beyond my abilities, at least at the level you're talking about, but I think I understand."

"So you're on a mission yourself?"

"Yes."

"You're mixed in with the Schneiders and Lahnsteins?"

"Yes."

"You're going to need all the help you can get."

Adric raised an eyebrow. "I know. I guess that doesn't include you?"

"Singapore just blew up in my timeline."

"I understand."

The Doctor paused. "Do you forgive me?"

Adric frowned. "I thought you weren't asking for forgiveness."

"Doesn't mean I don't want it."

Adric looked down at his feet. Seconds dragged into a minute, but at last, he looked the Doctor in the eye. "From the moment I stowed away on the TARDIS, I put my life in your hands. I've lived and died by your actions. In the end, I wouldn't trade what I've seen for anything."

"I'm not sure that's a sentiment I'd agree with."

"I'm not saying I wanted to die, but the chain of events that put me on that freighter with you unable to save me, that was a product of my actions as much as yours. To blame you is unfair. If it's forgiveness you want, you have it."

"Thank you," the Doctor whispered. "You know, I'm not sure I ever appreciated you as much as I should have."

"I'm just a boy."

"No, you're not. You're brilliant, you are. Now tell me, there are three mysterious phenomena existing in this region, but only two unidentified energy signatures. What does that mean?"

Adric thought a moment. "Either the third signature isn't actually here, or it's mixed in with one of the other signals."

The Doctor clapped his hands together. "Excellent!"

The vampire lunged, putting the Doctor into a chokehold. Adric let out a cry of dismay and leapt forward. Instead of reaching for the vampire's arms, he went for the hood. As soon as his fingers touched cloth, the vampire roared, letting go of the Doctor to strike Adric in the face. He went flying, but the Doctor took the opportunity to stumble into the TARDIS and trigger a force field over the entrance. It would drop at a moment's notice if the vampire went after Adric and the Doctor needed to go to his aid, but the vampire just stood before him, chest heaving and hands shaking.

"Why'd you do that?" the Doctor demanded.

No response.

"Speak, _vampire_!"

Adric staggered to his feet, covered in mud but otherwise unharmed. The vampire glanced at him, and the Doctor's hand inched toward the field release, but the sight of Adric actually calmed the figure down.

"I, I," he paused. "I'm sorry. I--" He stiffened, his entire body freezing in place, straight as a board. From the corner of his eye, the Doctor saw the energy readings from the vampire surge due to a flood of foreign power crashing into him. "Leave!" the vampire roared, "_Investigate the river and die. Flee back to your companions before the army crushes them like bugs._"

"Do you really expect me to run at your command?"

"_GO!_"

The Doctor made a decision, and it wasn't because of the vampire's words. Adric had heard the admonition against the river, and for whatever reason, this place was his mission. Unseen words passed between them as the Doctor looked over the vampire's shoulder at Adric. The young man nodded once. They'd just repaired the foundation of their broken trust. If anything would ever be built upon it, the Doctor had to hand this responsibility over. "All right," he told the vampire. "But know this: I have time on my side. Eventually, I see everything."

---------------------------------------------------------------

As the TARDIS faded out of reality, the vampire sank to his knees. Adric could still feel the force of his punch. His face would begin bruising soon, and he was lucky his nose hadn't been broken, yet the figure looked so despondent he found it hard to fear.

"Why'd you do that?" he asked, taking a few steps forward, watching the vampire for any sudden movement. "I know Susan is wary of you, but she seems to think you're on our side, so I'm willing to believe that too."

"I... don't know." For the first time, the vampire sounded shaken. Gone was his confidence, his cynicism disguised as insight. His voice was hollow, drained. "I felt so angry. The river _is_ none of the Doctor's concern."

"You didn't need to be so demanding. What's in the river?"

"Why should I tell you?"

He shrugged. "It was worth a try to ask."

"I should return you to Susan before she hunts me down."

"She'll do that eventually. Monsters never escape Susan."

The vampire turned to examine him from the dark shadows beneath his hood. "Is that what you think I am?"

"I don't know who or what you are."

"Perhaps you're right. Maybe I _am_ a monster. I thought I knew myself, but now... I'm not so sure." The vampire glanced at the forest, then up at the treetops across which they'd arrived in such a harrowing manner. Adric could understand the rush if the vampire wasn't sure when the Doctor would leave, or whether the Doctor would think to explore the river, but there was no call for throwing him down like that. Maybe the vampire agreed, or maybe he didn't trust his abilities right now. "Perhaps we should walk back."

"I'm in no rush. Susan isn't coming after _me_ with a poker."

"We shall walk."

They left in silence, and Adric knew the vampire wouldn't respond to any further inquiries. Still, he'd let slip crucial information. Something was indeed in the river. The tentacles had been real, and something happened to Adric and maybe Susan during the night. He was closer to the answer than the Doctor. Even as they drew away from the water's edge, Adric felt the pull to return. He would find out what was there. He had forgiven the Doctor for his near death experience, but maybe, if he could do this, he could forgive himself as well.


	33. Chapter 25: Sometimes a Strange Longing

**Chapter 25**

**Sometimes a Strange Longing**

"Does this skirt make my butt look big?" Bilis asked.

Foreman crossed his arms. "You're pretending to be Cuddy--as loathe as I am to say something House would say, it's _supposed_ to make your butt look big."

Bilis frowned and continued to strike poses in front of the mirror. It was a precarious situation, as he was doing so while balanced atop three-inch high heels, and Gwen was certain Bilis had never cross-dressed in his life. After a year with Torchwood, one learned to judge these things; at the least, Bilis lacked the natural flair and poise to pull off heels. He was much too stiff.

"I don't understand why Tracy can't pretend to be Cuddy," she told them. "That'd at least _make sense_."

"Um," Foreman said.

Bilis put a hand on his hip and jutted his butt out. "Tracy is indisposed right now."

"Did you kill her?" Gwen asked sharply.

"Of course not, dear. I fear Miss Kindle far too much to make an attempt on her life, even if I wanted to, and I do not. I am a _reformed_ man. Love can do that to someone, you know."

"No, no, no." Gwen shook a finger at him. "I don't believe you for a second."

"You made out with him!" Foreman said.

"I was loaded with morphine after surgery!"

"Thus lowering your inhibitions and revealing your true feelings."

"For once, I agree with the perpetually disgruntled medical professional," Bilis said.

"That's not me, that's House!" Foreman replied.

"You do seem grumpy much of the time," Gwen pointed out.

"Have you _seen_ the state of this hospital? Not everyone could be unconscious while aliens rampaged through the hospital and tried to kill us."

"Just stuck in a corpse locker," Bilis muttered under his breath.

"Once I'm out of this bed, I'll try to help you organize the staff," Gwen promised.

Foreman rolled his eyes.

"What? It's the best I can offer!"

"I know," Foreman said. "But if that's all you can offer, maybe you shouldn't say anything at all."

"Please, would you two stop fighting and focus on what's important?" Bilis flourished with his hands, ending with them pointed at himself. "Me. Mr. Foreman, this brassiere is unacceptable. The paper we've stuffed it with is rustling every time I move. I insist on receiving breast implants."

"I am not going to approve plastic surgery for you. Even if I wanted to, there isn't enough time!"

As it stood, the situation was this: Gwen woke about six days after the two Doctors departed with their respective teams of Torchwood members and Princeton-Plainsboro doctors. Foreman discovered two additional tumors after they left and operated to remove them from one of her kidneys, leading to the aforementioned making-out-with-Bilis episode while she recovered. Thankfully, Nurse Brenda had kicked him out before matters could progress much further, and for that, Gwen was grateful. In fact, she wasn't certain how Brenda had gotten such a terrible reputation as the Evil Nurse. She'd been nothing but kind and protective to Gwen, and even when others crossed her, she wasn't particularly harsh in ejecting them from Gwen's presence--Gwen did not equate forceful with vindictive, not when someone was clearly acting out of concern for a fellow human being.

Of late, she'd taken to having odd dreams, thoughts of what life would be like if she miraculously got better. Fantasies about Jack returning like a prince in shining armor, and darker fears about what would become of her if the teams failed. She knew she should be grateful to have as famous and powerful a being as the Doctor on an interstellar mission to save her, but the dreams were getting to her, despite her awareness that they were simply her mind trying to work through and discard her fears.

Foreman and Tracy had explained the events after her initial illness, and they'd settled in to wait for the Doctor's return, expected at any time considering he was a time traveler. Their attempts to establish a routine had been foiled when, three days after Gwen's return to lucidity, they received a letter addressed to Lisa Cuddy from Umberto Snyder, New Jersey's senior United States senator, announcing his intention to visit the hospital in support of its reconstruction after the unfortunate escalation of events by the state National Guard in response to a terror threat.

News reports indicated the government was passing off the events as a terrorist attack. The Republican National Committee headquarters was a bombing, as was the blast in the Princeton Plainsboro parking garage. The National Guard, according to the government, attempted to defuse the bomb, but the terrorists went into the hospital and took hostages. During the rescue attempt, parts of the hospital were significantly damaged. As for the death of the New Jersey governor, well, that was clearly totally unrelated violence due to organized crime, explaining why his wife, his aide, and the attorney general were killed as well, and the DC botanical gardens explosion was pent up swamp gas.

True, it was an eventful two days but not entirely implausible. That Britain still believed three successive alien invasions were mass hallucinations made this cover-up look brilliant in comparison.

Rather than attempt to explain Cuddy's sudden disappearance, Foreman and Bilis decided to impersonate her on the basis that the senator was 87 years old and had a reputation for operating alone. Having requested a personal meeting, there was a good chance Bilis would need to fool no one but a senile, near-sighted politician who saw this as nothing more than a goodwill stop. Even so, Gwen thought the plan was beyond stupid, but they'd proceeded without consulting her and now it was too late to change course. In any case, when it came to her caretakers, Gwen found being bedridden was equivalent to being disenfranchised, which annoyed her to no small degree.

As though he knew her thoughts, Foreman turned to her, arms still crossed. "I don't like the plan either, but how are we supposed to account for Cuddy? The media's making her a hero for surviving a hostage situation and a bombing; we're lucky they haven't discovered she's missing yet, and that's thanks to the senator getting the state legislature to order the hospital off limits."

"Tell him she's ill."

"She'll have to show up eventually, and an illness will only inflame curiosity."

"Maybe she'll be back by then."

"And maybe she won't."

"It'll be worse if you get caught."

"I'll tell the senator I'm a big, bad wolf." Bilis clawed the air at her. "_Rawr_. The better to eat your deans of medicine with."

"That is not a pleasant image in my head," said Foreman.

A sharp rap came from the door, and by now, Gwen had an almost Pavlovian response to it. Sitting up straighter, she put on her best smile as Nurse Brenda entered. "Senator Snyder is waiting in the lobby."

"Drat!" Foreman said. "He's early!"

Brenda raised an eyebrow. "I can chase him out with a broom if you prefer."

"How unusually helpful of you."

"I aim to please," she said, and only her voice was capable of making a statement sound sardonic and sultry at the same time.

"It is all right," Bilis said, dismissing their concerns with a flick of his wrist.

"Cuddy does not act like that," Gwen informed him.

"Very well, I shall remember instead to yell at the senator, kill him with an item of clothing, and throw him out the window."

"Fine, do whatever you want. He hasn't met her, has he?"

"I don't think so," Foreman replied.

Bilis sauntered past Brenda. "Bring the good man to Cuddy's office. I will wait for him there."

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Senator Snyder looked younger than his actual age. Not young enough to be wrinkle-free, but wrinkles told their own stories. Like the erosion of canyons, wrinkles deepened with age, though whether weathered by sweat and tears or designed to do so by a god morbidly fascinated with all forms of torture, great and small, Bilis was not certain. In any case, Bilis was a veteran of wrinkles, both in time and skin, and he felt Snyder's "real age," to use a modern term, could be no more than an incredibly youthful 75.

The senator fixed him with an intense stare the moment he stepped into the room. This was an exceptional accomplishment considering he sat with his back facing the door, but the new windows were rather reflective, and no one had bothered to reinstall the blinds. "Ooooo_oooo_hhh," Bilis said seductively, running his hands over his chest and waist. The senator's eyebrows shot up, which was exactly what would've happened had he met the real Lisa Cuddy--of that Bilis was certain. _I am a perfect imitation!_ he thought to himself.

"Is there something wrong?" Snyder asked.

There was. In his overenthusiastic groping of himself, he'd crushed some of the paper that formed his right breast, and now it looked like he'd given himself a mastectomy. "Um..." He turned away and stuck a hand into his blouse, trying to re-arrange its contents. Only too late did he realize the office windows acted as mirrors as well, reflecting his actions onto the windows overlooking the outside and back to the senator.

"Oh dear, are there fleas?" The senator shifted in his chair. "I must say, the place is in even worse condition than the reports suggested, through no fault of yours, of course. I suppose an image is indeed worth a thousand words."

The bra strap snapped, causing paper to slide down his belly. Deciding it was a lost cause, Bilis rushed to the desk and sat with arms firmly crossed. The senator extended a hand, and Bilis stared at it. "I'm sorry, I can't shake your hand." Bilis pressed his arms even harder against his chest. "I, uh, just performed a disembowelment."

Snyder peered at him over massive, perfectly circular gold glasses. "I was not aware hospitals did that."

"Autopsy!" Bilis said.

"Ah."

Cuddy would never have gotten this flustered. Bilis slid a foot across the floor and up the senator's leg. "I'm so grateful you took time to visit our humble hospital." It was quite hard to lean suggestively over the desk with his arms crossed, but Bilis managed. At the same time, his foot caught on Snyder's pant leg. The senator frowned, and Bilis pushed harder. The cloth parted with a soft ripping sound.

Snyder pushed away from the table with the speed of a 65 year old. Doubtless, Cuddy would have found his rapid de-aging incredibly arousing. "_Rowr!_" Bilis cried, throwing himself across the table onto the man. The chair collapsed under their combined weight, and they crashed onto the floor. Outside, several nurses paused to stare.

"All right, let's end this farce," Snyder said, grabbing him with firm hands and setting him aside. The senator stood, brushing himself off, his left pant leg drooping sadly. "We both know you're not Lisa Cuddy. At least, I _hope_ we both know."

Bilis' jaw dropped. But he'd done such a good impression of her!

"Fortunately for you, I know that Cuddy is traveling with the Doctor."

Bilis' jaw couldn't drop any further.

"Are any members of Torchwood present?" Snyder asked. "One Owen Harper, perchance?"

Bilis shook his head as the senator lifted him off the ground and set him on his feet.

"Toshiko Sato?"

"No, my good man. They are traveling with the Doctor as well."

"Curious." Snyder stroked his chin. "They added another member recently, didn't they? Gwen Cooper?"

"She is very ill." Bilis didn't like telling Snyder about Gwen, but the man clearly had connections. Besides, he still wasn't sure what the fallout would be over his impersonation of Lisa Cuddy.

"Regarding your impersonation of Lisa Cuddy," the senator said--_Of course_, Bilis thought-- "Please find a better actor, preferably one of similar gender and appearance. And relay this message to Ms. Cooper, along with my sincerest wish that she get well soon: The aliens are still here. In fact, they have infiltrated Congress and the highest levels of government. They are not from the rift, though the technology you tracked through the rift does originate from them. The ones you defeated were low-level scouts. Please be careful. Have a good day."

Before Bilis could respond, the senator swept out of the room with the serene agility of a fifty-three-and-a-half year old.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Roald Dahl Plass was empty, as it was wont to be whenever a character involved with Torchwood was present. Today, that character was Tracy Kindle, and while her involvement with Torchwood was minimal, there wasn't really any other character to spare. Her mission was to rescue Rhys Williams from the frenzied, passionate Torchwood pterodactyl, Myfanwy, something Bilis Manger had declined to do when he appeared to deliver his message of somewhat less animalistic love from Gwen. Instead, Bilis had appeared out of nowhere to the sight of Rhys screaming and trying to beat back the pterodactyl with a lead pipe.

As the pterodactyl carried him off to her nest, Bilis yelled "_Gwen says, 'In case I die, I want you to know I've always loved you!'_" To this, Rhys replied, rather ungratefully in Bilis' opinion, '_BUGGER THIS_!" Of course, that might have been in response to being carried away by a pterodactyl, and Bilis wasn't sure he'd even heard him, but he'd performed his duty to Gwen and as much as he doubted this rather average and clearly un-resourceful bloke was a legitimate rival to himself, Bilis saw no reason to complicate the situation by encouraging a fellow suitor. Therefore, he'd returned to the hospital and stupidly mentioned the situation to Tracy a few days later. She then took it upon herself to take the first trans-Atlantic cruise she could book (the ocean air is great for the constitution! Unlike those crowded airplane cabins...) to head for Wales to rescue Gwen's unfortunate boyfriend.

"One, two, three..." she counted the blocks in the sidewalk to find the location of the invisible elevator entrance Bilis had told her about. "Ah, here it is!" Opening an umbrella she'd brought with her, she stepped onto the stone and plummeted through. After the first few feet, the air caught her umbrella, and she began a slow drift down.

Before she had time to take in the base, a squawk came from her left. Darting out of the shadows, a slim shape rushed at her. She cried out as the pterodactyl grabbed her arm with its feet. The rush of wind from her sudden change in direction caused the umbrella to rip out of her grip, and she was left dangling from the pterodactyl with no recourse but to let it take her where it desired. Thankfully, the trip was brief, though it ended on a pile of branches and some sticky, slimy material she didn't want to identify. She struck the nest after a ten feet drop, but the sticks were moldy enough that they didn't scratch her and, in fact, provided a decent cushion.

Looking over, she found a man lying facedown beside her. He groaned when she poked his shoulder but was otherwise insensate. "Oh, that's not good," she said. The flapping of pterodactyl wings sent gusts of cold air in their direction, and she screamed as Myfanwy descended upon them.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Paperwork was no one's friend. Trees certainly didn't appreciate it. Pens and printers bled to make it, only for people to lock their labor away in dark cabinets or shred it and send it to the landfill. The humans filling them out wished to be somewhere else, and yet, life couldn't seem to run without an extensive paper trail. That was why Foreman realized, now that he was running the hospital, that he faced a dilemma: if he didn't do the paperwork, the hospital wouldn't run, but if he did the paperwork, he didn't have time to run the hospital, for paperwork was but a small portion of the demands the facility and its staff made upon him--it just happened to be the most time-consuming portion. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Cuddy had used her formidable powers of intimidation to make the paperwork write itself.

As a result, loathe though he was to admit it, he needed to delegate the work to someone else. To Foreman, this smacked of all those times he wrote up House's paperwork for him because his boss never, _ever_ did that sort of thing. He was too busy downing Vicodin and insulting patients, which clearly took precedence.

A tap on the glass made him look up. Well, he thought of it as glass, but it was really a sheet of plastic over the space where the glass had been. Since Cuddy's office was presumably still occupied by Cuddy, Foreman had resorted to working in House's office. The broken pipes and other damages from the bomb blast had been repaired, but since the interior windows weren't critical to making the office useable again, they remained shattered. None of this helped his psyche, as it seemed to him that he was taking up House's old position more than Cuddy's and doing so in a second-rate third-world environment. There were still goo stains on the walls from the not-slug aliens.

As if these problems weren't enough, it was only a matter of time before the hospital resumed taking the strange cases no one else could solve, and when that happened, Foreman would be leading the diagnostic team, resulting in an even greater time drain.

"Come in," he said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. Nurse Brenda burst through the doorway, looking like an angry valkyrie, and this was another problem Foreman did not need--after all, valkyries were usually concerned with dead men. "What's wrong now?"

"Two more doctors and five nurses have called in with pulmonary illnesses from all the dust. We're severely understaffed." Somehow, over the past week, Brenda had inserted herself into every aspect of hospital business. In addition to providing him with constant staff updates in the form of admonishing complaints, she had forced him to give nurses the authority to act as doctors--an authority masked from the public by extensive paperwork but authority nonetheless--due to the number of MDs who had been injured or sickened by the events of the alien invasion. In a way, she was now running the hospital, and he was reduced to being her puppet secretary.

"I've put up job postings everywhere," Foreman replied, "but no one's applying, for obvious reasons."

"We could steal them from charities. We're pretty much working in a war zone anyway."

"Doctors Without Borders isn't talking about a hospital without walls."

"Well, it's your job to keep this hospital running, Mr. Administrator!" she snapped.

"Seems you're doing a fine job by yourself," he replied.

Rather than snarl back, Brenda raised an eyebrow and looked pleased. "I'm glad you've noticed."

"Were you trying to be subtle?"

She took a seat across the desk from him. "You probably haven't noticed or I wouldn't have to say it, but nurses are rather underappreciated." There was an odd softness to her voice, rather like whenever she spoke to Gwen. He recalled Gwen defending her and for the first time, didn't dismiss it as the mad ramblings of someone who liked to see the best in everyone, even if that best didn't exist.

He let his pen fall from his hand and rubbed his eyes. "You know, maybe you're right. I'm sorry if I've been impatient with you."

"Your response is understandable." She smiled, and Foreman found the sight rather unsettling, so much so that he nearly pulled away when she reached toward him, but he kept his hand where it was as she put her hand on his. "You have so much on your plate."

As they touched, Foreman got a brief image in his mind of putting Brenda's helpfulness to better use. He smiled back at her, and she put her hand back in her lap. "Could I ask an immense favor of you?" he said.

"If you get our staff back up and running."

"The problem is that I don't have the time with all this paperwork. Backlogged patient files, lawsuits over the attack, insurance claims for the damage, government reports, it's ridiculous how much work there is to do."

"You're asking me to do your paperwork for you?"

He felt a stab of fear that he'd squandered her brief good will toward him and rushed to qualify his request: "It'd simply be if you were willing. This is in no way an official request, but I'm in over my head--"

"I'll do it."

Resisting the urge to leap over the desk and hug her, he settled for sitting primly and saying, "Thank you."

She nodded. "Perhaps you should check your inbox again. Maybe some candidates have applied."

"I just checked an hour ago."

"Yes, but clearly your luck is changing."

Foreman logged onto the computer and found fifteen applications from prestigious medical schools across the country, all sent within the last minute.

"Hmm," Brenda said, leaning over the desk. "That's a bit coincidental."

"Maybe it was a server backlog," Foreman replied.

"Maybe..."

Two days later, Foreman had called every candidate and invited them to Princeton-Plainsboro for a final interview. The first interviewee was Selina Freeman, a hematologist from John Hopkins who'd graduated with honors and gave him a two-inch thick packet of recommendation letters.

"That's a bit excessive," he said, taking the packet.

"I had a hard time narrowing it down to my most relevant recommenders," Freeman replied. "But I managed to get it down to the top one percent."

"Should I expect a letter from the President?"

"No, I took out his letter on the basis that he's not a medical professional."

Talbot Kemp followed her, and he was a cardiologist from UCLA. "I love what you've done with the place," he said the moment he stepped through the door. "The cranes are so avant-garde."

"We're rebuilding from a terrorist attack."

"My mother always said the best part of an explosion is rebuilding."

Foreman scribbled down "Mental health?" followed by several more question marks on the profile. "What did your mother do? You don't have to answer that."

"It's quite relevant to my job performance, actually," Kemp replied. "You see, she was part of the LA bomb squad. Her getting blown to bits is what convinced me to become a doctor."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"She's not dead. We rebuilt her."

"Pardon?"

"The doctors stitched her back up. I mean, they had to give her a couple prosthetic limbs and an experimental mechanical heart, along with new kidneys, liver, lungs, appendices, eyeball--"

"_Appendices_?"

"The hospital had a few extra on hand and figured they wouldn't hurt."

A pediatrician named Vivek Pandit came next.

"Tell me something strange about yourself," Foreman said sarcastically.

"I collect marbles and give them to my patients."

"That's it?"

"Er..."

"Marble collecting is the weirdest thing about yourself?"

"Some of the marbles are the size of a small dog."

Foreman shrugged. "You're hired."

Jinx Culver was a walking good luck charm, which she demonstrated by dropping buttered toast on the floor of the office, but she graduated top of her class at Harvard and promised not to bring food to work. Eve Feldman liked to sing everything she said, but Foreman was hard-pressed to find a reason why singing operas about the dangers of obesity was a bad thing to happen in the clinic. By the time he reached the last interview with Stellan Millikan, he was sure he'd gone over his hiring quota, but since Cuddy wasn't here and the hospital's budget was in limbo, he decided he could hire as many people as he felt necessary. Besides, there was no telling how many sick doctors and nurses would be willing to return once they felt better.

Everyone he interviewed was amazingly qualified and viewed the opportunity to work at the hospital as a challenge that other locations could not provide. When they passed all his checks with flying colors, he put them to work the next day and found himself with a curious lack of things to do. With Brenda taking care of all his paperwork, including the employment verifications and hiring documents, and new doctors taking care of the patients, Foreman found himself with an excessive amount of free time. Each time he consulted the construction workers, they were on time and following the blueprints exactly. It was like clockwork: disturbingly regular and accurate.

"I think you deserve a few things finally going right," Bilis commented as they loitered in the cafeteria, picking at the remnants of their salads. "Although if you're really bored, you could try to tackle the aliens on Capitol Hill."

Foreman dropped his fork. "What are you talking about?"

"Gwen didn't tell you?"

"Gwen's always hanging out with Brenda now!"

"Oh. I told her and assumed she would tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"The senator, he knew about us, and he warned us the aliens we defeated were merely low-level minions. The true threat still lurks in the shadows."

Foreman pushed his seat back and stormed out of the cafeteria. "Wait! Where are you going?" Bilis called after him. He threw open the door of Gwen's room.

"When were you going to tell me there's aliens on our doorstep?" he yelled at Gwen, ignoring Brenda's startled disapproval as she glared at him from the chair at Gwen's bedside.

"Quite frankly, I didn't think you needed to know," Gwen replied, picking at her blanket.

"_What?_"

"Well, pardon me, but you seemed happy. Things in the hospital are running smoothly and you never liked the aliens. It's Bilis' and my opinions that they do not pose an imminent threat, so I saw no reason to concern you."

"You don't get to make decisions for me. I _am_ running this hospital, and since those aliens blew it up last time they were around, I think it does concern me!"

"Since you have so much free time, perhaps you'd like your paperwork back?" Brenda said.

"No!" Foreman replied, perhaps a little too vehemently. "I'm trying to put together a new diagnostics team."

"So you're returning to your old position?" Gwen asked in a tone that sounded a little too happy.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've heard you're very good at what you do," Gwen said. "Almost as good as House. Maybe you're happier now because you prefer being a diagnostician to being an administrator."

Foreman stared, and the two women returned his gaze with smiles and concerned looks.

"Foreman, there you are!" Bilis said, running up to the room. "Really, you mustn't blame Gwen. She needs her rest." Taking him by the shoulder, the old man tried to guide him out of the room, but Foreman shook him off.

"Dr. Kemp worked under Dr. Fritz at UCLA," Brenda said. "I believe Fritz is one of the best diagnosticians in the country. You'd be hard-pressed to find a better candidate for your team."

"Then perhaps you can appoint him as lead diagnostician."

Brenda's brows came together. "I don't understand."

Foreman believed her words, but whether she intended to or not, it was clear Brenda had usurped his position as hospital administrator. Somehow, she'd maintained her network of nurses despite having all the paperwork to deal with, and he'd found himself consulting her during the interview process. He could recognize superior talent when he saw it, and he conceded she was doing a better job than himself. Now that the hospital was up and running, there was little for him to do that she couldn't do better. Beyond that, Gwen was right. He really didn't like aliens, and the thought of them being still around unnerved him.

There was only one conclusion to his train of thought. He felt trapped in his position, pushed around by Brenda and babied by Gwen and Bilis. Taking up residence in House's office as lead diagnostician would just turn him into another House, and he didn't want to be a substitute, trying to fill shoes that didn't fit while he waited for House and Cuddy to return, if they ever did. If the events at the factory proved anything, it was that the universe was a dangerous place, but that was their choice. It was not the choice he made, and as a result, he had to make a clean break with everything. The aliens, the hospital, House's questionable methodology, he would leave it all behind.

"I think you should be in charge, Brenda," Foreman said. "You deserve it. And since you're in charge, consider this my two weeks' notice."

Her jaw dropped. "You're leaving?"

"This isn't the life I want. Now that everything's settled, I think it's time I move on."

"But what about Gwen?" Bilis protested.

"Her condition's stable. She'll be fine."

Gwen nodded. "If this is what you want, I fully support your decision. Thank you for all you've done, Foreman."

"It was my pleasure, Gwen. Goodbye."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

"I wish I could leave," Gwen said once Foreman was gone. Bilis shut the door behind him.

"Everyone wants things they can't have," Bilis said, trying his best not to leer and only succeeding in looking like a bulldog with a twitch.

"I don't." Brenda crossed her arms. "I'm quite happy where I am."

"I didn't know you could feel happiness."

Brenda stood. "We should go. You were right that Gwen needs her rest."

Gwen grabbed Brenda's arm as she left. "Can you increase the drip?"

"You're getting addicted."

"I'm having trouble sleeping." Which was strange considering her dreams were her escape. In her dreams, she wasn't sick, wasn't crippled. She looked forward to them, perhaps too much, yet the more she wanted to go to that other world where everything was better, the harder she found the actual process of falling asleep.

Brenda sighed but complied, increasing her dosage. "I'm going to have to get more bags."

"Whatever you need..." Gwen said, her eyelids drooping as the sedatives entered her bloodstream. She barely registered the lights going out as she drifted off.

All of a sudden, lucidity hit her, and her eyes snapped back open. She sat up, feeling more awake than ever. The first rays of the morning sun broke through the blinds, and her heart dropped. _Where were the dreams?_ she thought.

On the off chance that this was a dream, she tried to climb out of bed and could barely move, pain shooting up from her abdomen. "Damn it!" she whispered.

At that moment, the windows shattered, and the blinds tore apart like trees in a hurricane. Gwen threw her arm over her eyes, partly to block the flying glass and partly to shade them from the glaring sun.

"Don't be afraid," a deep voice said, and as though the words were a command from her mind, she lowered her arm, staring directly into the sun. Instead, she found a shadowed figure blocking the sun, its rays forming a halo around his body. Yet, it wasn't shadows that obscured his features. He _was_ a shadow, a monochrome figure of dark grey, shaped like a man but without any form beyond his outline.

"Who are you?" she demanded. Her hand inched toward the gun she'd placed beneath her pillow.

The figure stepped forward, and she snatched the gun. In one fluid motion, she loaded the ammo from her pocket, released the safety, and fired three rounds. He ignored her and instead, reached into her chest. His hand passed right through her, and she gasped. Warmth burst from the point of contact, flooding her body, washing away the slightest amount of pain or weakness. When she felt so full of energy that she might explode, he pulled back, then grabbed her hand and pulled her out of bed. She staggered, but her feet hit the ground and her legs didn't buckle. Standing straight, she marveled at the sense of euphoria that filled her.

"I'm cured!" she gasped. And then, she realized what that meant. "This is a dream."

"Of course it is," the figure replied. He leaned toward her. "But that doesn't mean it can't be real."

"A dream is by definition a fantasy of my mind."

"Then don't call it a dream. I have plans for you, Gwen Cooper. Grand plans. For you to do your part, you must be well."

"Jack?" she asked.

He laughed, but it was a kindly laugh, the chortle of an uncle rather than the taunt of an enemy. "I am so much more than Jack Harkness could ever hope to be. If you don't believe me, take this." Out of the darkness of his hand, a necklace emerged, its pendant a spiral overlaid against a star. When she didn't reach for it, he fastened it around her neck for her. "Wake."

Against her will, she sank back into the bed even though she stood still. It was as though the entire room rotated and moved around them until the bed was pressed against her back. Light began to fade so that the darkness of the figure expanded to fill the room.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

Even though he had no face, she could sense he was smiling. "I'm God."

Gwen Cooper woke. After the intensity of her dream, the pain seemed all the more present, throbbing, stabbing, reminding her of what she'd lost. Hoping against hope, she moved her hand to her throat and gasped.

Her fingers shook so hard she found it hard to undo the latch, but she managed, and the golden chain quivered as she held the necklace before her face. The pendant spun, reflecting the light of LEDs. On the back, two words etched in metal seemed to burst with hope: "I promise."

Though she didn't know what he promised, that blank seemed filled more with opportunity than emptiness. She believed him. No, she believed _in_ him, and that was enough. God would heal her, and she would serve him.


	34. Chapter 26: Sparkling Tuna Parrots

**Chapter 26**

**Sparkling Tuna Parrots**

The funeral took place under moonlight. By Elizabeth's orders, the crew extinguished all flames aboard the _Empress_ and gathered on the main deck. The only sound was the creaking of wood and the sloshing of water against the sides of the ship as the pirates stood, row upon row, hats in their hands and heads bowed. Elizabeth was making her way up to the front of the crowd when Chase arrived. He positioned himself in the back, with Sparrow, Christian, and Norrington. The ceremony wasn't for them, but they'd agreed it felt wrong to continue packing while it took place. There should always be time to pay respect to the dead.

Elizabeth stopped in front of the wheel and faced the crowd. She held a folded paper lantern at her side, and when Chase looked around, he saw most of the crew held one as well. "I'm not familiar with your customs," she said. "I'm not even from this part of the world. We've had only a couple months together, and even though we've been through a lot, no one can deny it was a short time. But loss is universal. We all feel pain and sorrow and the guilt of surviving when those we love do not. Just like the thrill of going into battle, the joy of celebrating with friends, the hope of looking to the horizon and wondering what awaits, we meet death as we do life: with a fighting spirit and the knowledge that something greater awaits."

Tai Huang stepped over with a stick of burning incense in his hand. Elizabeth took it and lit the lantern before passing it into the crowd. Within a minute, everyone held theirs aloft, the flickering glow forming an undulating sea of light.

"Our thoughts and prayers rise with these lanterns. Let their flames light the way of our lost loved ones into the next world and beyond." As one, the pirates released the lanterns, and they drifted into the sky, receding on the wind until they were so small they resembled a swarm of fireflies. 

A rough accounting indicated eighteen of Elizabeth's crew of twenty-two had family in Singapore during the attack. Relationships ranged from estranged to being the sole provider for the family. On an island so small, Elizabeth and her men were rulers as well as pirates. There were already whispers amongst the crew that the attack had been some form of karmic retribution. Between the loss of their former captain and tales of a sea goddess reclaiming the ocean as her own domain, wild and uncontrollable, the belief was spreading that a curse had befallen the people of Singapore.

"It's a good thing we're leaving," Chase had told Christian as they stuffed changes of clothing into oiled leather bags. For now, Elizabeth's reputation remained unsullied, but Chase was nothing if not adept at sensing weaknesses in authority. The crew believed Elizabeth to be some goddess in human form, but if their luck did not change soon, it would not be so hard for them to turn on her. When that happened, Chase intended to be aboard the TARDIS and a few millennia away.

As if she knew Chase's thoughts, Elizabeth stared straight at him as the lanterns vanished into darkness. In the hush that followed, her face seemed to fill the void in sound and light. "Some of you may be wondering why this happened. Myself, I don't know the reason, but I can tell you what we can rule out. Today wasn't retribution, for I don't know any god or spirit who could be so vengeful. It wasn't payment for our crimes, for how can the lives of innocents take our place?

"I've _seen_ the invaders. They are human, just like us. They control powers we never imagined possible, but until we fought Davy Jones at the maelstrom, so did the British fleet, yet we prevailed. We overcame Calypso and the kraken and the _Flying Dutchman_. Our attackers don't know what they've unleashed from our loss. Singapore lives on in us. Our friends and family live on in us. We've mourned them, now we must avenge them!"

She drew her sword, and it glinted under the moon. Pressing the blade against the inside of her forearm, a trickle of blood ran down its length, a stream of black that threatened to be the forerunner of a torrent. "In our blood runs the lineage of lions. For now, we are orphans, but I promise we will rebuild. The city will flourish again once those who committed today's crimes are brought to justice. Our wrath will be swift and cruel. Our victory will be complete." She thrust the sword upward. "_Together, we remain strong!_"

Up until now, the pirates had been still as statues. Now they were a roaring crowd. Swords filled the air as they chanted: "_Orphans of the lion!_"

"Together, we will crush our enemies!"

"_Orphans of the lion!_"

"Together, our best days lie ahead!"

"_Orphans of the lion!_"

She lowered the blade, like a conductor ending a piece. "Honor the dead. All I can promise is that I will let each of you take your revenge. I hope that's enough."

Immediately, Tai Huang stepped forward and dropped to his knees beside her. "Captain!" he exclaimed, bowing until his forehead touched the deck. Easy as it would've been for the two to have choreographed the move, Chase believed the action was spontaneous and sincere. When the rest of the crew followed suit, Chase and Christian remained standing--Sparrow had shrugged and kow-towed as well--but Christian saluted her, forcing Chase to do the same. From the corner of his eye, he saw tears glistening on Christian's cheek. He restrained himself from shaking his head, but he couldn't understand why Elizabeth's words would appeal to anyone other than the crew. He and Christian weren't from the island or even the time period. This wasn't their war or their cause, and besides, if the dead lived on in some other plane of existence, Chase believed that the best way to honor them would be not to join them.

"Thank you." Elizabeth waited until her men returned to their feet, then gestured at the back of the crowd. "I regret that we don't have time to attempt to recover the bodies, but if you have any offerings, Christian and Chase will take them before they tender ashore in an hour."

"What?" Chase said. He glared at Christian. "Did you make promises without me present?"

"I'll explain later," Christian replied. He dragged him by the arm back down to Elizabeth's quarters. Four sacks and a Powerpuff Girls backpack littered the ground between the bed and the door. One of the sacks had straps sewn on so Christian could wear it as his own backpack, while another two were tied together for throwing over Joey. They'd decided they would alternate carrying the last one after Maria adamantly refused to hold anything heavier than ten pounds, claiming she had a bad back. Three belts for tools, weapons, and water bags lay beside the wardrobe where the priestess sat cross-legged amidst a circle of her divining crystals. She wasn't bound or restrained, which Chase thought to be a huge mistake, but Christian had insisted, and Chase still remembered him taking Elizabeth out with that club of his.

Joey had been left to guard the priestess in their absence, and she leapt to her feet upon their entrance and ran over to Chase, wagging her tail.

"Most of the crew are afraid to return to the island," Christian explained as they shut the door. "Elizabeth's giving them an excuse to leave."

"And right they are to be scared," Maria said, her eyes shut and her body rocking back and forth. A low keening emitted from her throat. "Angry spirits are loose."

"Because you killed them," Chase snapped. "Is your little meditation circle going to protect you from ghosts?"

Her eyes opened with the languidness of a cat waking from a nap. "Yes. Quartz is powerful." She began drawing shapes in the air with her finger.

Chase rolled his eyes and returned his attention to Christian. "But what about the offerings? We have enough stuff to carry as it is, thanks to our friendly neighborhood witch doctor."

"Elizabeth's explained it's just some incense and paper money that we burn when we set foot on land."

"_Money_?"

"Fake paper money."

"Superstitious nonsense," Maria said. Concluding the last of her invisible symbols, she gathered up the crystals and placed them in a pouch. 

"Look who's talking," Chase replied. "Just because you can do a few tricks with your BRAIN technology--which isn't magic by the way--doesn't mean the rest of your mumbo-jumbo is real."

The door creaked open behind him, and Chase jumped. Maria smirked at him, doubtless thinking he believed she had caused it. He knew better, of course, and Elizabeth's presence in the doorway validated his reasoning, but his heart continued to race. "If you're done squabbling with your prisoner, I'm ready to depart."

"What about the paper money you want us to burn?" In Chase's opinion, they were only half done with their departure preparation.

She raised an eyebrow. "We don't routinely carry funeral offerings in the cargo. The crew has made do with what they can find."

"We're not done packing," Christian said.

"Yes, exactly!" Chase nodded. Joey jerked her head at him in the robotic feline equivalent of an eye roll.

Spotting the open door of her wardrobe, Elizabeth wandered over and riffled through the silk robes within. "I see you're not keeping the outfit I lent you," she told Christian, who was back in his terra cotta warrior uniform.

"It makes me stand out," he replied flatly. The two of them had borrowed one change of clothing each from the crew, the pirates being unable to spare any more. That still left Maria with only her (now torn) dress. "If you really don't want it, perhaps for Maria?"

Elizabeth glanced at their captive. "It is hideous," Maria pronounced. "But I suppose I could roll around in the mud a few times and make it better."

"Enjoy." Elizabeth tossed the robe, hanger and all, at the priestess, who caught it with a gingerness that belied her words. "What's left? You've got food, water, clothing, sleeping bags, lanterns, lantern oil, compasses..."

"Weapons," Norrington spoke up. "They need weapons."

"You're serious about teaching them swordfighting?"

Christian's brows furrowed. "What's wrong with that?"

"I was renowned for my skill," Norrington replied.

Elizabeth sighed. "There's only so much you can do without a body."

"I assure you, I will be able to make do."

"Maybe guns would be more handy," Chase suggested.

"I can give you those as well," Elizabeth said.

"The sword is an elegant weapon for a more... civilized age," Norrington said haughtily.

"Not as clumsy and random as a pistol?" Chase replied.

"Exactly."

Christian clapped. "_Star Wars_!" he exclaimed, pointing at Chase and waiting for affirmation.

"What?" he and Norrington said at the same time.

Elizabeth waved a hand to dismiss the thought. "What else do you need?"

"Spelunking gear," Chase said. "I don't care what sort of drilling technology they have, we're going to be climbing and rappelling and dealing with all sorts of problems that stem from traveling underground."

Elizabeth nodded. "All right, we'll see what sorts of hooks and ropes we can equip you with. Christian, stay here and watch her. I know you trust Joey, but I was nervous the entire funeral wondering if the ship was going to catch on fire or something. I'll feel better with a person standing guard."

* * *

Jack Harkness stood guard from atop the _Flying Dutchman_'s crow's nest. In truth, he wasn't doing anything like guarding--he just liked standing in really high places--but he refused to concede the fact. Sure, the ship was crewed by dead men with the power to control mythical sea monsters, but Jack Harkness was a rare commodity, that dashing mixture of physical prowess and mental confidence impossible to create artificially. The _Flying Dutchman_ didn't know what she was missing without Jack, but now that he was here, he was sure she finally felt complete.

Below, the crew was still at work. Jack had always felt a little lonely being the only person who didn't need to sleep, but he was starting to think that being around insomniacs was overrated. For one thing, it gave away the fact that no one had anything to do when everyone else was unconscious. Sitting around in a circle staring at each other and twiddling your thumbs just wasn't fun. Jack could think of other things they could do in such a situation, but this group didn't seem into that.

Will and his crew also didn't seem to know what to do with passengers. Having seen them emerge from beneath the surface, Olivia had been quick to warn them against going back under. Between an ornery mortal and a horny immortal, everyone evidently found it best to avoid the situation as much as possible. Leathery Heather had been responsive to Jack's initial queries, but Olivia possessed the most unfortunate timing.

"So you do a lot of tanning?" Jack had asked, running his finger along the leather strap she had looped over her shoulder in place of a belt.

"I would too if I didn't need to worry about getting skin cancer," Olivia said, stepping between them. She seized his arm and pulled him away.

"What are you doing?" Jack snapped.

"They're ghosts!"

"I think undead is more accurate," Heather called to them.

"Whatever." Olivia didn't even look chagrined at being overheard.

"Trust me, I've met undead and they're not it. Think of them like a less dashing version of me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, I can die and come back to life. I thought that was obvious from me falling off a cliff."

"But, that woman came floating back up..."

"Elizabeth was a special case." He winked.

Olivia screamed, causing Jack to stumble several steps backward. "You're all freaks!" she announced and stormed away. Knowing she had no place to go, Jack waited a couple minutes until she circled the ship and returned.

"Are you done yet?" he asked.

"Ugh!"

Another circle. "I'm impressed, but I bet you can't make a third round in those heels."

She did, but by the time she was done, she was staggering and out of breath. "This is not what I expected when we went shopping!" she gasped. Leaning against the railing, she nearly lost her balance, and Jack grabbed her before she went over, pulling her against him.

"This is what you get when you travel with the Doctor."

"You think I _wanted_ to go? If there hadn't been a _plane_ falling on me, I'd never have set foot in that musty phone box."

"When the Doctor gets back, I'll be sure to have him drop you off immediately."

"Good. In the meantime, I want you to tell the captain I'm pregnant."

"Are you?"

"Of course not, but how else will he give me his cabin? I'm a _model_. Being out here isn't good for the skin, you know. Do you want me to lose my job?"

"We're in the company of pirates. What makes you think he'll care?"

"He looks like a soft-hearted schmuck to me. Trust me, I can tell."

"I suppose you're going to tell me you've done this before."

"Twice, actually."

Jack groaned. "You are impossible."

"They were going to leave me so I told them I was pregnant. Now are you going to tell him or am I going to have to do all the work, because I think you telling him would have more weight."

Jack perked up. "Say that again?"

"I said you need to tell the captain--"

"No, no, the part about faking your pregnancy because a man was going to leave you."

"Yes. No man's going to leave the woman who's carrying his child, duh. Now can we get back to the main point?"

Thinking back, Jack wasn't sure how the conversation had ended. He had been too busy considering the implications this revelation had for his relationship with Ianto to spare any more time for Olivia. She'd probably stormed off and browbeaten Will into submission because, even if he wasn't going to admit it to her, Jack agreed with the assessment that Will was, all possible pirate factors considered, a complete push-over.

"_Captain!_"

Jack jumped at the urgency of the voice below and tumbled out of the crow's nest. When he came back to life, he found himself staring at the deck, but when he tried to push himself up, his hands found air. Realizing that he'd twisted his head, he flailed around until he grabbed a skinny, well-toned leg. From the scream that followed, he guessed it belonged to Olivia.

"A little help here?" he said.

"You owe me a favor."

"Fine."

Squealing with disgust, Olivia placed her hands on the sides of his head and, with surprising strength, twisted it back into position. A crack resonated through his skull, and his vision flashed for a moment, but then all was good. "Great job, thanks." As he got up, he glimpsed a brown trench coat that made him snap to attention.

There, standing beside Olivia, was the Doctor. He gave Jack his characteristic toothy grin. "For a moment, I thought it was raining men."

Jack pulled the Doctor into a bear hug, causing the Time Lord to flail in his grip. "What happened to you?"

"It's a long story, but I guess I found my way back." 

"They pulled him out of the ocean," Olivia said.

"Is that what the commotion was about?" Jack replied, thinking about the urgent call. You'd think that they wouldn't be so surprised after already pulling him from the ocean earlier today.

"Yes," Will said, joining them. Behind him, Jack noticed the TARDIS for the first time. Water dripped down its frame onto the deck, and seaweed draped over the front of the "Police Box" sign. "Perhaps you and your friends could find more conventional ways of boarding our ship."

"I must have turned a little too early out of the time vortex," the Doctor said. "You know how the old girl handles."

"We picked up his... box... while trawling the bay."

"Yes, yes, I'm very grateful for that. But, uh, Jack, where is everyone else?"

"I don't know. We got separated after the bar fight. There were giant--"

"Giant statues attacking the city. Yes, I saw a recording on the TARDIS." He looked a little worried.

"So what are we going to do?"

Will responded before the Doctor could answer. "We're going to join Elizabeth's ship. The last soul got pulled up along with the Doctor's vessel. We'll see how many of your friends are with her and track down any who aren't there. With the _Flying Dutchman_ able to travel anywhere on the seas, I'm sure you'll be on your way soon enough."

The Doctor shrugged. "Sounds good to me, but I've been busy while I've been gone."

"Let me guess," Jack said, "we're going to be here longer than we expected."

"There's just a teeny matter of saving the world and restoring the timeline."

"Of course." Jack slapped the Doctor on the back. "Good to have you back."

Olivia smacked them both alongside the head. "I'm pregnant! Get me home!"

Even Jack was a little surprised when the Doctor responded by sticking his face into Olivia's armpit and inhaling. He followed up by licking her forehead.

"_What are you doing?_" she shrieked.

The Doctor shook his head. "Just as I thought; you don't have any elevated hormone levels. I'm afraid you're mistaken about your pregnancy. Terribly sorry."

"Besides," Jack said, "didn't your cousin get kidnapped?"

She sighed. "Well, of course we'll save Olli first, but then we're heading straight home, do you understand? And to _after_ those rampaging pepper pots are gone."

Jack put his hands up. "Fine. You'll get no argument from me."

The Doctor frowned. "You don't seem upset about your baby."

Jack and Olivia shared a look of incredulity, then slapped themselves on the forehead when they realized they'd found a small bit of common ground.

* * *

The oars disappeared as they dipped into the water, swallowed by the inky blackness beneath the surface. Torches burned again on the _Empress_, but they were distant and uncomforting, flickering and ephemeral. 

"Row faster," Chase poked Christian in the chest. "I feel like the _Jaws_ theme music is going to start up any moment."

"Do you want to row?"

"Absolutely not. I would slow us down. You're more muscular than me."

"Am _I_ more muscular than you?" Elizabeth asked as she operated the second pair of paddles from behind Christian.

"Yes, I daresay you are."

"Hmm, I guess that's about right." She stared at her arms.

The priestess moaned behind him. Chase whirled around, rocking the boat. Christian retaliated by splashing him during his next stroke. "Would you stop doing that?" Chase told Maria. "It's freaking me out even more."

"Ooooooooh," she repeated. But she put the stones she'd been playing with back into a pouch.

"What are they for?" Christian asked. Chase groaned, trying to pretend he wasn't interested, but the crystals were ever so shiny. "I know the quartz is for warding off spirits--"

"You poor child," Maria replied. "How much knowledge have you lost?"

"Er. A lot?"

She upended her pouch and managed to make one of each color fall out before she sealed it again. Shoving Chase to the side so Christian could see her, she picked up a transparent crystal the size of a nickel. "This is quartz. It does more than ward off spirits; it is a source stone, one of three that are direct links to the gods. It amplifies the power of other crystals." She put it away, then picked up two more, one with each hand. In her left, she held a mottled blue stone, long and thin like a piece of bark. In her right was the darkest ruby Chase had ever seen, black enough to be obsidian had a hint of red not burst through from within, glowing like a heartbeat. "The other two source stones. The ruby, it is red like fire and blood. Through it, the gods grant us victory and the power to smite our enemies. The other stone is lapis lazuli. Blue like the ocean, it quenches our rage to provide cool and tranquility. With its power, we subdue people and make them obedient. With these three, the gods answer our prayers, and we are unstoppable."

Elizabeth's face was stony as she listened to the explanation. Chase understood she wouldn't interrupt--this was too good an opportunity to learn more about the enemy--but that didn't stop the boat from going faster and faster. "Listen," he said, hoping to give Elizabeth's blood pressure some time to go down, "all this religious mumbo-jumbo is great, but I have to ask, if these stones are so incredible, why haven't you conquered the world already?"

"That is not a bad question." She sounded surprised.

Chase did his best to keep his tone sincere. "Thank you." He felt it gave him an air of quiet sarcasm and quite liked it. Joey hit him with her tail.

"There are those who believe our duty is to protect what is ours and not seek more."

"That's nice of them."

"They have been overruled. Seven months ago, a new faction gained power, and now we shall at last take our rightful place in the world."

"Er..."

She grinned. "The heathens still have a chance, small though it may be. Long ago, a band of pirates stole the greatest ruby we ever possessed. It is not known how it happened, but the priesthood confirms it is so. I have seen the records myself. The crystal was larger than a grown man and carved with sacred inscriptions. Our prophecies say it will reappear in time to be used against us in the final battle. The gods have willed it so that we may prove ourselves worthy. Otherwise, conquest would be too easy."

The boat jolted as the bottom scraped against sand. Chase nearly fell over the edge and grabbed Maria for support. She screamed and fell on him, sending them both into the surf. Christian leapt out after them, and, of course, helped Maria up, leaving Chase sputtering and alone.

"You know, sometimes I wonder which side you're really on!" he snapped.

"Mine," the priestess said, wrapping her arm around Christian's and sauntering off.

"I wouldn't bet your panties on it," Chase muttered.

"I don't wear any!"

"That's 'cause you lost them. 'Cause you're a gambling addict! And you were _wrong_!" He stumbled to his feet, yelling at their receding forms. "I'll bet you my pants for your stupid, torn dress! No, I'll do better than that. I'll bet _my_ panties! Wait, I don't have any. I'll bet _Cuddy's_ panties. I'll bet--"

"Catch," Elizabeth said.

"What? _Ow_!" His pack nailed him in the face, sending him falling back onto the beach. "Damn it, Elizabeth, the bolts and carabiners were in this one."

"Sorry. Christian and Joey took the other ones already. I assumed this one was yours, on account of it being pink and all."

"It _is_ mine."

"Oh."

"Oh? You don't think I can handle carrying bolts and carabiners?"

"Well, they're metal. And metal's heavy."

"I'm not a wimp!"

"My arms are bigger than yours," she said, as though that settled anything at all. "You better get going. Don't forget to burn the offerings."

"I don't think Mr. Proper is going to forget."

She nodded and grabbed hold of the boat, turning it back around. He shrugged his arms through the loops and headed off, his shoes gurgling with each step.

"Chase?"

He glanced back. "Yeah?"

"Try to come back alive."

He grinned. "You can bet Maria's lost panties on it."

* * *

The Doctor was worried. True, the TARDIS indicated that all his companions were still alive, even if she couldn't tell what condition they were in, but the timeline was seriously damaged. He'd pulled Captain Turner aside to ask about his ship, because a ghost ship ferrying dead souls to some great beyond sounded like something that should not exist on Earth. From there, he'd learned about cursed Aztec gold, a sea nymph, her lover who'd turned into a half-human half-squid monstrosity, and the edge of the world.

That wasn't what worried him, because he'd already been prepared to expect the worst. What worried him was that Will Turner was on the verge of turning their little interview into a full-fledged episode of Oprah. The Doctor could _feel_ the tears coming, and he began sweating in sympathy with the anticipated waterworks. The wedding in the middle of a climactic battle, Will getting stabbed, his pirate friend sacrificing his own shot at immortality to save his life, it was just so _dramatic_, and Will was getting so worked up. By the time he got to their tender love-making on the beach before separating for ten years, the Doctor didn't even spare a thought for how unhygienic such intercourse could be.

"Do you know who I picked up first? The very first soul I ever pulled out of the ocean?"

The Doctor thought for a moment. His mind first went to that dashing commodore who gave his life to help Elizabeth escape Davy Jones, but Will sounded so choked up that he doubted he was talking about Elizabeth's former suitor. Gratitude didn't run that deep. "Elizabeth's father?" he guessed.

"_Yes!_" Will's lips quivered. "It's like you're psychic, Doctor. Hmm... Doctor, are you a therapist sort of doctor?"

"No." That was what he should've said. Somehow, his vocal chords turned that into: "Yes, please continue."

"Well, I mean, he'd been adrift an awfully long time. I didn't know what to expect, but I felt it was something I had to do, for Elizabeth's sake. He thought I was dead, too, which I suppose I was. After explaining everything to him, he was silent for the longest time. There was so much I wanted to say to him. I wanted to reassure him that his daughter was ok, that people would watch out for her, that _I'd_ look out for her and I cared about her more than my life itself. But... I couldn't get any of it out. I felt so helpless. At that moment, I saw Elizabeth like her father saw her: utterly alone, and she couldn't even hear us. It was like we were both leaving this world forever.

"At last, he spoke, and I think he could see my thoughts in my eyes, because he just took my hand and said, 'Give her my love.' He was sincere. That was the moment he became my father too. His words were like a lifeline tying me to the future, to the moment I would see Elizabeth again and I could deliver those words to her. 'I suppose it's time to go, then,' he said. 'No point dallying.' That was when I made him the offer. I said, 'Stay with me. Join my crew, and you can see Elizabeth again too.'" Will paused.

"What did he say?" the Doctor asked, pretending he didn't notice the tears dripping down Will's face.

"'It's so cold.' That's what he said. Just, 'It's so cold.' That was when I knew all that time in the water had gotten to him. A part of him was already gone, and there was nothing I could do. So I gave the order to descend. That's what we do with the souls. It's like going back to the locker, but they don't follow. Right before we enter the water, they evaporate, and their souls drift away into the sky. I think it's fitting, like we're drowning in their place, and they're finally free to go." Will's hands trembled as he reached out and took the Doctor's. "Thank you, Doctor. It's... good being able to talk to someone about things."

The Doctor gingerly pulled him into a hug. "There, there."

"_WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!_" Will cried, bursting into outright tears and throwing his arms around the Doctor so tightly he couldn't breathe. The Time Lord struggled a little, then hugged him back and started crying as well. "Is... this... part of the therapy?" Will asked between sobs.

"Sure!" the Doctor choked out.

"I'm so lonely!"

"You're so lonely! We're both so lonely!"

"It's like we understand each other on a deep, deep level!"

"You're so right!"

"Uh, Doctor?"

They froze, and the Doctor looked up in time for the door to open, sending torchlight streaming through. After the near-total darkness of Will's quarters, it was blinding, which didn't help reduce the amount of tears the Doctor was dealing with. When he'd finally blinked enough to clear his vision, he saw Jack standing in the doorway.

"Yes, Jack?" the Doctor pulled away from Will. "We were just having a nice chat."

"Yeah, sounded like a lot of fun. I figured I should check in on you before the entire rest of the crew decides to do so."

"Good thinking, yes. Ahem. I've been feeling rather unbalanced since the blow to the head I took in the tavern."

"That would explain the emotional hysteria."

"I am not _hysterical_."

"Sure. Not to rush you guys or anything, but shouldn't we get going?"

"You get to see Elizabeth again!" the Doctor exclaimed. "You have to tell her."

"I will," Will said.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Tell who what?"

"Nothing," the Doctor and Will said at the same time. The Doctor gave him a thumbs up from behind his back as they walked past Jack.

* * *

Jack Sparrow was rifling through Sao Feng's robes when Elizabeth got back.

"What are you doing!" Tai Huang exclaimed when they entered. "I am so sorry, Lady Elizabeth. I did not know he'd broken into your quarters. I am ashamed."

She patted him on the back. "Don't worry, he does that."

"Ah, Elizabeth," Jack said, pretending he hadn't been caught doing anything inappropriate. "If I had known I would be seeing you, I would've bathed."

"That's quite all right. And if I'd known I was seeing you, I would've prepared a drugged drink, but since I don't have the appropriate herbs on board, I'll have to take a leaf out of Christian's book, so to speak."

"What?"

"Tai Huang?"

"My pleasure," her first mate said, stepping forward. Jack flinched as he raised his hand, pausing only when he realized he wasn't holding anything with which to hit him. Then the light flared and glinted off a piece of metal.

"That's a needle. He has a needle. What can you do with a needle?"

"They call it acupuncture," Elizabeth replied. "Apparently, you can do amazing things to the human body if you know the right pressure points."

"Uh huh, sure, sorry Elizabeth but you'll have to do better tha-- _erk_." The needle slid into the base of Jack's neck and he collapsed. Blinking wildly, there was little else he could do as Tai Huang patted him down and confiscated the compass. There was no sign of the map, though, and once Elizabeth locked the compass away, she removed the needle.

"That was unpleasant," Jack said, brushing himself off. "The compass won't be any help, you know. The fountain isn't in a direction it can point to."

"What does that mean?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"I could always turn you over to Barbossa. I doubt he's in a bargaining mood."

"Ah. He's around, then?"

"He asked me to find you."

"And _you_ are feeling quite bargainful, are you?"

"For now."

"Splendid."

* * *

Barbossa grabbed Jack the monkey by the tail and whirled him around twice before flinging him out the open window of his cabin. 

"You're an impressive tosser," Ianto said.

Lisa rolled her eyes as she took her seat. Barbossa couldn't tell whether it was because she thought Ianto was attempting to ingratiate himself or if there had been some insult in the remark. He decided to ignore it, if only to antagonize her by not antagonizing her. It worried him that this thought didn't make sense. More and more things were starting not to make sense around Lisa Cuddy.

The table was laid out with quite a feast. They'd had plenty of time to re-supply at Singapore. Nevertheless, this would be Barbossa's last extravagance in a while. While he now had every confidence that Elizabeth would appear, he wouldn't put it past her to take her sweet time. He wanted his travelers to feel more secure, though. He didn't _need_ them to trust him or like him, but it would help him if they did, and he wasn't a man to pass up an opportunity.

A roast hog covered the bulk of the table. It was drizzled in gravy and surrounded by platters of boiled potatoes, carrots, and stewed cabbage. A knife stuck out of a loaf of bread, placed beside a variety of cheese platters. Down the table, closest to Barbossa's seat, were the fruits: lemons, oranges, grapes, and apples. Likewise were the bottles of wine and rum. "Dig in," he said, tearing a piece out of the pig's side and biting down. The others stared at him as fat ran down his chin. "Well, what are ye waiting for?"

"Why the sudden hospitality?" Lisa asked.

"Ah, Lisa. May I call you Lisa?"

"No."

"Lisa, among pirates, there be no friends, but there be hospitality when the occasion suits."

"So what's the occasion?" Ianto asked. He picked up a glass of wine and sniffed it.

At that moment, the door burst open and Pintel and Ragetti fell through, as they were wont to do. "Pardon, cap'n," Pintel said, lowering his head in deference and striking the floorboards as a result.

"There are two ships approaching!" Ragetti blurted out.

"I was getting there," Pintel growled.

"Might they be the _Dutchman_ and the _Empress_?" Barbossa asked.

"Aye!" the two replied.

"Good, now get out and prepare for boarding." As they rushed out, Barbossa put on the most self-satisfied smirk he could manage and returned his attention to his three uncertain allies. "That be occasion enough for ye?"

Even Lisa looked grudgingly impressed. 

By the time the ships were all alongside each other--with the _Pearl_ in the middle, Barbossa noticed, a fact that was obviously premeditated--the food had gone cold, but one look at the condition of the _Empress_ put that thought out of his mind. To his great annoyance, Elizabeth's vessel was practically undamaged, and they must have been much closer to the blast than the _Pearl_.

There were two shocks for Barbossa, one on each ship. The first was the reappearance of the TARDIS aboard the _Flying Dutchman_--while he understood Will was part of a greater supernatural plane now, Barbossa did not anticipate, nor did he think, Will had any connections with the blue box--and the second was the reappearance of Jack Sparrow wandering around behind Elizabeth in a manner designed to keep him inconspicuous. He failed because Jack Sparrow really wasn't one to remain inconspicuous.

"It's him!" Ianto exclaimed under his breath at the sight of Sparrow, clasping his hands to his sideburns before dropping them and trying to look nonchalant.

"Doctor!" Cuddy cried, rushing to the side of the ship. "You're back!"

"I see you found another use for that dress!" Elizabeth yelled at Barbossa.

"Aye, well ye weren't using--"

"_Ow!_"

Barbossa turned around in time to see a piece of wood, probably broken from the remains of the mizzenmast, bounce off the Doctor. As he watched, Cuddy threw another across the water and nailed him in the shoulder.

"Stop throwing things at me!" the Doctor exclaimed, dodging behind Jack Harkness.

"_You left us behind!_"

"Stop that!" Harkness said, tussling with the Doctor. "I don't like getting hit by stuff either."

"Tough."

Harkness grabbed his arm and swung him around. "Ha!" he said one moment before realizing he'd just knocked the Doctor overboard.

Cuddy smirked, and Barbossa just _knew_ that was what she'd planned all along. That woman was obsessed with throwing people off ships.

"JAAAACK!" the Doctor screamed as he plummeted toward the surface.

"What?" Jack Sparrow's head popped up over Elizabeth's shoulder.

"Oook?" the monkey said from Ragetti's shoulder.

"We're going to have problems," Barbossa told Elizabeth as they shared a look of exasperation.

Indeed, an hour later, fully forty-three minutes after everyone had congregated on the _Black Pearl_ after anchoring the ships and setting up a system of ropes for people to swing over, and ten minutes after the food and alcohol had run out (for now), the group continued to argue. While some information of importance had been exchanged, most of the discussion concerned one topic.

"Why can't we just call one of them Pirate Jack and the other one Not-Pirate Jack?" Ianto demanded.

"Pirate Jack and Jack," Harkness said.

"No, no, no." Jack Sparrow shook his head. "Not!Pirate Jack and Jack. I was here first."

"I'm older."

"I'm better looking."

"What about the monkey?" the Doctor asked, feeding a banana to the Jack perched on his head.

Jack Sparrow grinned. "We can re-name him Hector."

There was a moment of silence as Jack the monkey's hand clenched shut, causing the banana to shoot away and embed itself in Tai Huang's ear. The simian's intense stare was enough to make Sparrow recoil. "I can live with the undead part, but the staring's just creepy," he said.

"_Eeek_!"

"All right, fine! You can stay named Jack."

Elizabeth pulled a knife out of her boot and stabbed it into the tabletop. Barbossa would've protested, but she got everyone to shut up, and that was enough for now.

"Enough! You're Sparrow, you're Harkness, and the monkey stays Jack. All in favor put your hand up and say 'Aye.'"

"_Aye!_" Everyone raised their hand except the two Jacks (the monkey concurred, chittering as his hand went up).

"We're done," Elizabeth said, replacing the knife.

"Yeah, and it only took an hour," Gregor said. "Now would someone explain how we're planning to help my brother?"

"We're not," Elizabeth replied. "I've spoken to Will, and it turns out that the _Dutchman_ will be less useful than I'd hoped."

"Unlike Calypso, I don't have clear vision over the water," Will said. "I only know when someone has died. While the _Dutchman_ can go anywhere, I need a destination. The other ship is long gone."

"There are only so many ports within range," Ianto said.

"You don't understand: I can't pursue them. I can't intervene. I can go check the ports, but I can't recover your friends. My duty remains first and foremost to those lost at sea. If I abandon the duty, my entire crew loses their humanity. In the end, you will have to hunt down these pirates yourselves. We will help by scouting, and if there is a supernatural element at work, we can fight that, but so long as they are in the hands of humans, my own are tied."

"And the _Pearl_'s the fastest ship in the world," Elizabeth said. "So that means our priority is fixing her."

"Yes, but what's your priority after that?" Lisa asked. "No offense, but you are pirates. Why will you help us recover our friends?"

"To be frank, that isn't my priority."

"Aye," Barbossa cut in. Now was the time to strike. "But it be mine."

Will and Elizabeth stared at him. "_What_?" they said at the same time.

"I feel I owe Lisa a debt. 'Tis my fault her friends fell into the possession of those dastardly Persians."

"It's Cuddy," Lisa said, crossing her arms. Ianto whispered something into her ear and forced her arms back to her sides. "Fine, thank you, but I still want to know your real reason."

He hesitated. It wouldn't do to appear too eager, yet he had to tell them. Thankfully, Elizabeth came to his rescue.

"It has to do with the fountain of youth, doesn't it? That is fundamentally what we are still after."

"Aye," Barbossa drew his words out, trying to sound like he was unwilling to share. "Sparrow--"

Sparrow lifted a finger and interrupted: "Pirate Jack."

"Humph," Harkness replied.

"_Sparrow_ didn't steal everything of mine."

"And you didn't see fit to share," Elizabeth said.

"I be sharing now, ain't I? It doesn't matter. The Persians have it now."

"What was it?"

"Give and ye shall receive, your majesty."

Elizabeth replied immediately, suggesting she'd expected his response. Well, that was fine. Let her feel secure. "Calypso can't see the fountain. 'It belongs to different seas,' she said. However, she knows the way to those new waters, whatever that means. The fountain is not in the Americas, but the _path_ to it is."

"The map clearly showed it in Florida," Barbossa growled.

"Why don't we ask the man who's been there?" Elizabeth said, turning to Sparrow.

"Whoa, what are you all looking at me for?"

"Christian told me everything," Elizabeth replied. "What do you know?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Barbossa drew his pistol and cocked it in Sparrow's face.

"Ah, that jogs some memories, though a cutlass might be even more memorable." Sparrow shoved the pistol aside and wandered toward the other side of the room. "The entrance I found was indeed in Florida. I've heard there's another one in Peru."

"_Entrance_?" the Doctor said.

"You know about the fountain?" Harkness asked.

"As much as you. Heard legends. As far as I knew, it wasn't real." The Doctor eyed the pirates. "Isn't supposed to be real. There most certainly shouldn't be entrances on far sides of the planet. Is it a portal? I can think of a few species that might try to pull something like that."

"No, it's a tunnel," Sparrow replied.

"Well, that sounds familiar," Elizabeth said.

"A sheer drop, might be miles and miles down."

"Might be?"

" I got caught by those priests before I became drunk enough to jump."

"That's helpful," Olivia commented.

"Shhhh," the Doctor hissed. "I think we can assume the attackers at Singapore and the defenders of the fountain of youth are one and the same."

"They didn't look like aliens to me," Ianto said.

Harkness half-raised a hand. "I agree. And I'm not just saying that for coffee stamps."

"You better not be, sir."

"So that's all Calypso gave you?" Barbossa pressed on. "Not even a map?"

"Calypso's aware she has information we need. Unfortunately for us, we're capable of performing a favor for her."

"Great," Will said. "Of course. Give us enough to hang ourselves and make us pay to get out of the noose."

"What does she want?" said Gregor.

"There's an island nearby. The natives are not very advanced, but there's enough high quality wood that we can make repairs and enough food and water to keep us well stocked. They will also provide us with some mythology regarding an artifact Calypso wants. That's all I know."

"And once we get it?"

"She'll guide us to an entrance herself."

Barbossa whistled. "If she wants the artifact that bad, I don't know if it be a good idea to give it to her."

Elizabeth glanced at Sparrow. He shrugged. "It's your only chance, mate. There was definitely something magical about the way to the fountain. I can't find it again without a map, and a map was something Marques was quite eager to confiscate. Touchy-feely, that one. I think he wanted my sausages."

"Sausages?" Lisa said.

"Plural?" Harkness said.

Sparrow reached into his pants, making everyone leap backward, but he came up with a string of mangled, greenish links. "Made from sea turtles."

"We've shared what we know," Elizabeth said. "Now talk, Barbossa."

"There's a legend," Barbossa said. "Of Cyrus the Great of Persia. As you all know, I am Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea. I ventured into the Caribbean--"

"Because the Caspian Sea is bound by land. All of it." Sparrow smirked.

"It's the _largest_ sea bound by land."

"Right, it sucks," Gregor said, "go on."

"It doesn't... arrrgh. Suffice it to say, I possessed scrolls from the region. Cyrus the Great lived in the 500s, _before_ Christ. He founded the Persian Empire. Over thirty years, he conquered nation after nation, melding empire into empire into the largest empire the world had ever seen. But the important part, the _relevant_ part, and I quote: 'In his travels, he came upon a Great fountain, a marvel of metal such that only gods' hands could have shaped. Through the fountain flowed forth the waters from the heart of the earth. To drink of it was to drink pure strength, to mix the blood of the land and the blood of the ancestors and the blood of the mortal. Many desired to find the fountain, for it granted immortality. But those who dared face death could receive an even greater gift: to be renowned for all one's days, to be granted dominion over the earth, to be known, truly, as Great.'"

"So Cyrus turned down everlasting life," Elizabeth said.

"To burn brightly," Barbossa replied.

Harkness nodded. "Good choice." Barbossa and Elizabeth shot him dark looks, but he remained unfazed. "I'm not kidding. Living forever is overrated."

Barbossa decided to ignore him for the time being. "What matters is that he included directions to the fountain on a lost artifact. The Cyrus Cylinder, it's called, an inscribed cylinder detailing the accomplishments of Cyrus and buried under the ruins of Babylon. My documents provided hints as to how to locate the cylinder, but they're in the possession of the Persians."

"How'd that happen?" Will asked.

"Right," Sparrow said, "because it's impossible to steal things from Hector."

Barbossa glowered but did not reply.

"Anyone else have something to contribute?" Will asked.

"Actually, I do," Ianto said. Everyone shuffled around to look at him, and the Doctor in particular looked surprised.

"_You_ know about the fountain?" the Doctor said, sounding jealous.

"Not per se. First, Jack." The monkey perked up and Ianto shook his head. "No, not you, sorry. Pirate Jack. You don't know anyone named Susan, do you?"

Sparrow frowned. "No, why?"

"Well, because certain unfortunate events will happen around her, and if you knew her, I'd suspect the culprit would be you, but never mind."

"Come to think of it, there's a, haha, lady in Tortuga--"

"Don't think that's her," Ianto said hastily.

"This has so much to do with the fountain," Lisa commented.

"Would you consider the search for the fountain a treasure hunt?"

Sparrow stroked his chin. "I suppose. It helps that the fountain is guarded by a city of gold. Also, fish. With teeth."

"The fountain of youth _and_ El Dorado?" Olivia perked up. "This is getting better by the moment."

"We find the fountain," Ianto said. "There's a map somewhere, but maybe you've already lost it."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down. How do you know this?"

"We meet in the future. About two hundred fifty years in the future."

Sparrow leaned closer. "Am I still good-looking?"

"You look the same."

"Excellent."

"You're from the future?" Barbossa said. It was as good an explanation as any for their strangeness, he supposed. 

"Ok, enough!" The Doctor waved a fist in the air as though wielding an invisible stick. "I assert my advanced knowledge over all things time-ish and declare this conversation over."

"Where's your screwdriver?" Harkness asked.

The Doctor glared. "I misplaced it."

"How'd you misplace it? You love that thing. It's like your phallic symbol."

"I lost it-- it is _not_!" the Doctor spluttered. "Why must you humans make everything about sex?"

"You're not human?" Elizabeth said but got as much of an answer as Barbossa.

"I merely, er..."

"Merely what?" Harkness pressed.

"I lost it down the throat of a mermaid. And this subject is _closed_."

Ianto and Gregor suppressed chortles as Will's eyes widened. "Don't worry," Lisa told Barbossa and Elizabeth. "He doesn't answer our questions either."

* * *

"Thank you!" the Doctor said as he slammed the door of the TARDIS behind them. He could see the tension drain out of the others as he locked the pirates outside. It'd taken three hours of shuffling people back and forth between the ships before he'd gotten the pirates sufficiently turned around to get everyone into the TARDIS without raising suspicions. They all knew they wouldn't have much time before Barbossa and Elizabeth caught on, but that didn't matter. Most of what needed to be said had already been said at the meeting, and other matters could wait. "Thank you all for your discretion."

"I assumed there was a reason we didn't bring up using the TARDIS for a search and rescue operation," Cuddy said.

"It's quite simple," the Doctor said. "I can't find them, and if Elizabeth thinks we'll run off the moment Will locates Olli and Cameron, she's not going to let him tell us where they are. Sure, they'll search because of Barbossa's documents, but as far as we'll know, they won't find any sign of them."

"So what's the plan?" asked Jack.

"No, wait." Gregor took a step closer to him, and the Doctor found himself edging back. "I was assured you could track everyone. You said this TARDIS knows where we all are."

"Do you all have the keys I gave you?"

Five silver keys shimmered in the TARDIS' dim glow.

"I can't detect any of them." The Doctor ran his hand through his hair. "That's very bad. Time has... gone astray. Very badly."

"That's not possible," Ianto said. "You must just never have heard of the fountain, because if I met Jack Sparrow back in the future, that means--"

"What were you doing when you met him?"

Ianto froze mid-sentence, his mouth still open.

"Oh god," Cuddy said. "The _aliens_. Are you telling me they're here too?"

"Not necessarily," Ianto said. "But yes, we were fighting aliens with BRAIN technology at the time. It was in a BRAIN-induced hallucination, and Jack was smoking something that let him share the same hallucination from halfway across the planet."

"This all reeks of BRAIN influence," Jack said. Ianto gave him a look, causing him to exclaim, "You just keep saying what I'm going to say before I can say it!"

"So the timeline fractured when aliens invaded New Jersey," the Doctor said.

"No," Ianto and Jack said at the same time.

"Fine, go!" Jack said as they shared another look.

"The aliens had infiltrated every level of government. It's safe to assume they've been embedded in human affairs for years."

"Can't be this far back, though," Jack said. "And we have no evidence they can time travel."

"Which doesn't mean they can't, sir."

"Or maybe the effects of their tampering traveled back in time with us," the Doctor said. His mind was racing as he considered the ramifications. It didn't make sense, but it was the only explanation he could come up with, yet no one had brought any BRAIN technology with them. He'd have known if anything like that was in the TARDIS. Plus, it wasn't as though effects on the timeline were like a virus, moving back and forth on carriers. But... they'd hit something in the time vortex. What if that had damaged the vortex somehow, spreading the effects of BRAIN backward and forward from the central event in 21st century New Jersey? "But... no, that would mean they succeeded. That would mean a critical mass of human minds being used in the 21st century, generating a field of BRAIN effect large enough to be able to leak through time."

"How many people are we talking about?"

"Thousands, at least. Maybe tens of thousands. You can't hide that. Not from me. Anywhere on the planet, that many minds, and I'd feel it. I'd have to, wouldn't be able to ignore it if I wanted."

"Then there must be some other explanation."

"Perhaps."

"So, as Jack said, what's the plan?" Cuddy asked.

"We bide our time. It's the only way to rescue the others, and it's the only way to set the timelines right."

"Really?" Olivia said. "We all risked our lives to meet here and that's the best you have?"

"No, I have instructions. Cuddy, it looks like Barbossa's taken a fancy to you. Your job is to encourage him."

"I will do no such thing!"

"Make him trust you. Jack, I want you to do the same with Elizabeth. She used you to get to her husband; there'll be some sense of gratitude there."

"But I'm doing so well on the _Dutchman_!"

"No, you're scaring people. And I don't want you flirting with Will. That'll stir up all sorts of trouble. You'll scare him and make Elizabeth jealous. The same goes for you, Olivia."

"He's dead! I'm not interested in dead people!"

"Yes, but he controls Davy Jones' locker. That means every piece of gold that's ever sunk into the ocean belongs to him."

She gasped.

"I think you just encouraged her," Gregor whispered into the Doctor's ear.

"I know." He winked back. "As for you... I don't know. Go do whatever you want."

Gregor rolled his eyes. "Thanks..."

"Last but not least: Mr. Jones! You need to sabotage their weapons. Gunpowder getting wet, knives going missing, whatever you can do to make them less dangerous."

"Is that a good idea, sir?" Ianto asked. "_We_ don't have any weapons. If we come under attack, we need weapons to defend ourselves."

"Let's just make sure those weapons aren't being used against us, hmm? I'll trust your discretion to strike an appropriate balance."

"I believe I can do that, sir."

"Great. Knew I could count on you, Mr. Jones. Love the Joneses. Can barely keep up with them."

"And what are _you_ going to do?" Olivia asked. "I mean, while we're out there doing dangerous things, are you going to be hiding in here crying about your screwdriver?"

"I was _not_ crying about my screwdriver." Although that may have been a factor in his earlier emotional instability, he certainly wasn't going to admit it. "Jack! Stop telling lies about me. For your information, I will be on the _Dutchman_ trying to find out more about how much damage has been done to the timeline."

"So you're going to continue crying with the rich and pretty captain."

"Enough! Everyone out!"

* * *

The sun rose to a much happier Ianto Jones than it had left behind at dusk. This was largely because he'd changed back into a suit. There was nothing better than a good suit to reset the attitude. And anyway, no one would suspect sabotage of someone dressed so formally. He'd just have to take care not to get any gunpowder or filth on his clothes.

For the moment, however, he was just enjoying the sunset. He stood at the bow of the _Dutchman_, having just emerged from the TARDIS after his turn at the showers--they took care only to allow two people into the TARDIS at any time to prevent the pirates from getting too jumpy--and his position presented him an unimpeded view of the expanse of ocean that lay ahead. The sun was distant and red, like a burning quarter, but it lit the water with a ethereal glow.

A strong wind gusted from the west, filling the _Dutchman_'s sails. Even so, the ship barely seemed to move, and it wasn't just because there were no points of reference by which to judge progress. Five towing lines extended from the _Dutchman_ to the _Black Pearl_, and the wood strained under the weight of the other ship. The _Empress_ finished out the convoy from behind, keeping watch for other ships that might be ready to take advantage of crippled vessels fleeing Singapore.

"Hello, Ianto," the Doctor said, joining him at the bow. "Lovely morning, isn't it?"

"Your eyes are red."

"I didn't get very much sleep."

"Right."

"Why did you steal one of my sonic handcuffs, Ianto?"

"It's my exit strategy in case I get caught in an armory sabotaging the weapons of bloodthirsty pirates."

"Ah. Fair enough."

"Wait." Ianto grabbed the Doctor's sleeve as he tried to make his exit. "You have better senses. What's that over there?"

"Over where?"

"Over there." Ianto pointed straight ahead at what seemed to be black moving dots on the horizon.

"You say I have better senses and then you ask me to stare into the sun?"

"Sorry."

"In any case, they appear to be parrots."

Ianto called out for Will, who was close behind them at the wheel. Bringing out his spyglass, he peered straight ahead without squinting. When he lowered the glass, he was grinning. "They're parrots all right. Sparkling tuna parrots. Right where Calypso told us."

"Colorful flying fish are what come to mind with that name," the Doctor remarked.

Will laughed. "It's no such thing. They're just regular parrots, but the natives train them to help fish. They will look for bubbles or actual fish and circle the spot, calling boats to the location. In these regions, their specialty is the albacore tuna, which the natives call the sparkling fish because sunlight glistens off them near the surface."

As they drew closer, some of the parrots broke off the hunt to fly by and investigate the newcomers. "Tuna? Tuna?" they called.

"Shiver me timbers!" Cotton's parrot called back.

Soon the birds were all around, a whirlwind of plumage and obsession with fish. Yet there was no hint of their owners, domesticated though these parrots clearly were. "Something's wrong," Ianto said.

The Doctor didn't respond, but he stared at the mountainous island approaching from the distance with an intensity that felt foreboding. Ianto took the spyglass from Will and took a look.

There was significant evidence of human habitation, though the village was built unlike anything Ianto had seen before. Smoke rose from a set of rounded buildings at the very peak of the island. Only five structures sat up there, each probably large enough to hold a hundred people, constructed of wood and stone. They looked ceremonial, with stone carvings of giant, elongated human faces surrounding each one, not unlike the statues on Easter Island but rounder and fatter.

A dirt path wound around the mountain down to the main village, which sat halfway between the shore and the mountaintop. The comparison made the temple complex appear even tinier as the village sprawled across the mountainside and extended around the curve of the mountain, possibly spanning all the way around. Terraced farms draped down from the village like a green tiered dress.

The verdant landscape ended abruptly near the beach. In its place, a mass of fallen foliage and broken tree trunks littered the ground. As Ianto examined the wreckage, he found bodies, a sand-covered hand poking out from a pile of branches, a foot floating amidst driftwood. "Tsunami," he said. Lowering the spyglass, he saw the Doctor nod from the corner of his eye.

"The wave hit around sunset, end of the day for the fishing boats" the Doctor said. "On the shore, they wouldn't have stood a chance."

"It's been almost a day. Surely those in the village survived. They should be recovering bodies, shouldn't they?"

"Fear."

As they approached, even the pirates looked shaken. Singapore had been bad, but they didn't expect to find destruction so far away. Elizabeth stood resolute at the helm, still as a statue, but the crews of the ships seemed to draw strength from her while Barbossa stomped around and glared at anyone who wasn't doing his job.

"Why didn't you tell us about this?" Ianto heard Olivia demand from Will. "I thought you knew everything about dead people in the water."

"They're not my responsibility," Will said. "I can't sense them."

"Because they were killed where land meets water?" the Doctor asked. "Seems a bit of a technicality."

Will shrugged. "Calypso gave Davy Jones this responsibility. I merely took over. But her dominion over the oceans and seas isn't complete, so neither is my duty."

"That's odd, isn't it?" Ianto said. 

Will nodded. "I've given it some thought. Where land meets water, her control is reduced. There's less water, more land. It makes sense. But it feels like something is contesting her. Something weak, something that can only pull at the edges of her power, but it's always there, like someone tugging at loose strings in hopes of destroying a tapestry."

"Yet another supernatural force," the Doctor said. "Great."

When the ships were anchored, the captains convened on the _Black Pearl_ to discuss their next move.

"Given the situation, I don't know how welcoming the islanders will be," Will said.

"They're expecting me," Elizabeth said. "They apparently worship Calypso."

"They won't be too happy with her right now," Barbossa said.

"Not much they can do when she appears in person." Elizabeth jerked her head at the island, and they turned to find Calypso standing on the beach. She stared at the sea, seemingly paying them no mind, but when they turned, she grinned, showing all her teeth. "Still, perhaps we should hold off on a shore party until I've talked to them."

"I'm fine with Elizabeth going alone," Sparrow said.

"I'd like to take Barbossa and Ianto to begin getting supplies to repair the _Pearl_ as soon as possible. Cuddy can stay to oversee the current work crews." Without waiting for any agreement, Elizabeth dropped the rope ladder and began climbing down. Ianto and Barbossa exchanged glances but followed.

"Stay here and stay out of trouble," Barbossa growled as he disappeared over the edge of the ship.

* * *

No sooner had the shore party vanished into the tree line--now half a mile further back from the ocean than it had been--did the first person disobey Barbossa's command. It was the Doctor. Cuddy was overseeing Ragetti's work group, which had been assigned to supply inventory duty, when she spotted the Doctor looking furtive. It wasn't that she was trying to spy on him--though now that she thought about it, that wouldn't be a bad idea; she wasn't sure how much she trusted him--but rather, she had been scanning the deck looking for any excuse to get away from the group because, as well-behaved as Ragetti's bunch was compared to the others (Pintel's kept trying to convince her to teach them secret fighting moves and beating each other up to demonstrate what good students they were, and Cotton's parrot kept countermanding her orders and refusing to do the hard labor of disposing of the mizzenmast), Ragetti himself was somewhat of an annoyance.

"You must repent and come to God, miss. Twenty legs of ham."

Cuddy checked off another item on Barbossa's hastily-scrawled shopping list from Singapore. "I'm Jewish!" she snapped. "We recognize the same god."

"But how can you not believe in his son, who died for our sins?"

"Because I'm Jewish! Go reread the Bible. We have our own agreement with God."

"Yes, but wouldn't it be better if you believed in Jesus as well? You could be like... a Jew for Christ. Huh, that's a catchy title."

Searching for an excuse to escape, Cuddy spotted the Doctor edging toward the ladder. "Doctor! Where do you think you're going?"

The Doctor started, saw her, and leapt over the side with all the grace of a three-legged frog. Cuddy took no more than one step toward him when two factors stopped her. The first was Ragetti refusing to get out of her way and the second was Olivia yelling, "Don't worry! I'll take care of it!" The woman dashed over the side, and Cuddy felt a moment of triumph at the thought of the Doctor having to deal with her before she remembered she no longer had an excuse to get away.

"The Doctor said he was a time traveler," Ragetti said. "Do you think he'd take us back to meet Jesus?"

"Might not be a good idea," Jack said, coming up from behind her. "Cuddy has a tendency to kill authority figures."

Ragetti gasped, snapping his pencil in half. Cuddy turned her glare onto Jack, but he just grinned and handed her another pencil.

* * *

"The chief's name is Hika," Calypso said as they strolled into the village. "Her shaman is Ihorangi."

It had been a long climb. Elizabeth did not feel tired--the path had been gradual, easy though lengthy--but something about the island felt oppressive. Perhaps it was just the death that haunted its shores, but Elizabeth was no stranger to destruction. There was something more at work here.

The village gathered in silence around them. Almost everyone looked under the age of fifteen or over the age of fifty. Elizabeth counted perhaps thirty youths, men and women both, between those ages, out of a crowd of hundreds. Their homes were constructed of stone and wood with tiled roofs, secure against the weather and high enough to provide some comfort against the heat and humidity, yet vines choked otherwise polished walls, and barnacles grew in cracks. Seaweed hung from the branches of trees and dripped brine. None of it belonged here, hundreds of feet above sea level.

She examined the crowd. Worry lined their eyes, and they stood hunched, fearful. She noticed Ianto clenching his fists, and Barbossa's hand moved toward his pistol. "What have you done to this place?" Elizabeth hissed under her breath.

Calypso ignored her. Instead, she stopped moving at the same time as Elizabeth dug in her heels, making it look planned. She raised her arms. "I bring visitors. You shall aid them, and in turn, they aid you. Pray they succeed where you failed. Perhaps someone kinder than I do hear."

Thunder cracked from a clear sky, and Calypso transformed into sand, whipping away in a gale. 

The chief stepped forward. She and the shaman were both portly figures, their steps drumbeats against the dirt. Both were ancient, their hair the color of the moon. Tattoos ran down their bare arms in representations of birds and fish. They wore matching curved bones, the chief's bound in braids that fell to her breasts while the shaman's were pierced through his earlobes. 

She waved a hand through the air and spoke in a language Elizabeth didn't understand. The gesture appeared dismissive, and her voice carried danger.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." She waited. When no response was forthcoming, she asked in Chinese, "Do you understand this language?" Still no response.

"Let me," Ianto said. "The Doctor's machine translates languages in my head."

"What did she say?"

"She says she has half a mind to kill you."

"Why?"

"Why do you say that?" Ianto asked. To her, he was speaking English, and she thought him mad, but the chief responded to him while Elizabeth's words had only gotten scowls. "She says it doesn't matter. She is chief but she does not have the right to throw away their future. If they disobey Calypso now, she will kill them all."

"So Calypso _is_ terrorizing them?"

"The goddess," Ianto translated, "the fishers returned with their catch, and she appeared on the shore. She would not let them climb the mountain. Then the wave came."

"She killed them!" Barbossa sounded more vehement than Elizabeth expected. Surprised, as well.

"Didn't think you'd care." Elizabeth gave him a cold look. "You're still obsessed with her."

"The ocean be a cruel place. No surprise its mistress be just as harsh."

"What did you do to bring her wrath?" Elizabeth asked.

"We live on the borders of evil," Hika replied through Ianto. "She commanded we send our strongest warriors into the heart of terror, ten men and seven women. We did not wish to obey, but she is our god. She is harsh but she also watches over us and keeps us safe from evil. It was a necessary sacrifice. When they did not return, she said they had failed and we would be punished. I never expected the price to be so high."

Ihorangi raised a fist toward the sky. "The rains tasted of sorrow, but they promised the pain would fall upon us." He indicated Hika and himself. "Perhaps it has. The youth died a quick death while we linger as guilty ghosts."

"I am sorry for your loss. We can't offer you solace, but we will help you however we can." Elizabeth paused. She was shaking, and she couldn't regain her composure, though she tried every calming technique she knew. "And Calypso will know what it means to be judged," she said. Barbossa shot a look at her, and for a moment she saw fear in his eyes, but then he nodded his agreement.

"No," Hika said. She put so much force into the word that Elizabeth knew what she had said before Ianto spoke. "The goddess must be. It is her nature. But she fears."

"Fear?" Barbossa said.

"Nothing excuses her actions," Elizabeth replied.

"Calypso has been many things, but afraid? Never."

"The evil grows stronger. She tries to appear harsh and angry, but inside, she fears for her soul." Ianto hesitated before finishing the translation. "Like you."

Something roared in Elizabeth's ears, like surf tearing through a blowhole, its spray spreading like fog. Sound and sensation overwhelmed her as soon as Ianto spoke those words, and she staggered, nearly losing her balance. Both men reached for her, but she recovered as quickly as she was beset. "I'm fine." She put up a hand to stop them. "I'm all right."

"What happened?" Barbossa growled.

"I... don't know." She shook herself and focused on Hika. "So what do you want us to do?"

"Oh great." Ianto looked pained when she finished the lengthy explanation.

"Get on with it." Barbossa scowled.

"There's an island to the south, just over the horizon. There is a powerful recipe that Calypso wants. It is guarded by a great evil that will fall if the recipe is removed from its possession. Unfortunately, it is guarded by... an army of sex fiends."

"_What?_" Elizabeth and Barbossa said at the same time.

"Hika says the island's legends hold that the guardian has a harem of sex maniacs. They seize intruders and have intercourse with them until they die of exhaustion."

"I could think of worse ways to go," Barbossa replied.

"We could just send in Jack," Ianto suggested. "Harkness," he clarified.

Elizabeth shrugged. "It could work. Come on, we should let the crew know they can begin gathering wood. Thank you, Hika. We will attack the island as soon as our ships are repaired."

The chief nodded. "Our surviving youth will aid you in your repairs."

* * *

The Doctor moved through the jungle with a grace and silence that belied his usual brash demeanor. His hand kept reaching into his pocket for his sonic screwdriver--he _needed_ it, signal tracking was so much harder without it--but he would stop at the last moment, and a pang of loss would rise from both his hearts. 

"I am not moping," he muttered.

Contrary to what Cuddy might have believed when she spotted him slipping off the _Pearl_, the Doctor was not wandering off simply to cause trouble. He'd have liked nothing better than to wait for Elizabeth to come back. His head still pounded from the blow he'd sustained in the tavern, and his subsequent adventures had not done much to make him feel better. A good bit of rest and contemplation would've been good for him.

But no headache could mute his hyperactive Time Lord senses, and a noise came from the island. A clacking, like a million scales sliding against each other, and an overwhelming sense of dryness, so powerful he felt like he was suffocating. Yet the island certainly didn't lack of water, was suffering from a deluge of it, rather, and the sound came and went on the edge of his hearing. When he'd been on the ship, he'd been certain it was coming from the island. Now that he was exploring, he wasn't sure. It was like following a parade through city streets. He could hear the noise, but buildings blocked his way and caused sound to echo from every direction. 

He'd spent the last ten minutes circling the base of the mountain, high enough to have escaped the tsunami but low enough to form a gentle slope, almost flat at times. Here, the trees towered overhead. All the roots, vines, and plants underfoot should've made the terrain impassable, but there was so much they formed a carpet. 

Footsteps were muffled against the growth, but they were becoming a distraction. The Doctor paused and bent down, scooping up a handful of moss and sniffing it. An odd scent laced the regular smell of bryophyta, but he would focus on that later. His follower hadn't anticipated this stop, and she moved close enough for the Doctor to spot a flash of clothing.

"Come on out, Olivia," he called. When she didn't move, he stood. "I know you're there. Allons-y."

She stepped forward, clutching her purse and looking uncertain. "I'm sorry I followed you."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. He'd expected her to follow him for many reasons, none of which involved the least bit of contrition.

"I was just... so terrified of the pirates. I don't know why the others act so indifferent. Well, Gregor's a macho airhead, he'd fit right in, but your crew seemed sensible. They're dealing with thieves and killers!"

"Can't always pick your friends."

"_I_ can," she responded forcefully, moving closer. "I pick you."

"I make a point to secure the safety of those who travel with me," the Doctor said as his mind went to Adric and Singapore. "Ah, recent events are a fluke, I assure you."

She put a trembling hand on his arm. "I believe you."

"That said, are you up for an adventure?" He grinned.

Uncertainty flashed in her eyes, and her lips tightened together, but then she nodded. "I'm up for anything."

"I see." The Doctor resumed his course. "Given up on the captain already?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Will, of course. He won't give you what you want, has eyes only for Elizabeth, so you're latching onto me instead."

"What sort of woman do you think I am? If I look out for myself, that's only because no one else will!"

"You seem quite competent at it." He handed the moss over to her. "Smell this."

"Ew!" she dropped it. "I am a model. You can't soil my hands like that. I might develop a callous."

"You haven't lived until you've enjoyed a good mud bath. Never mind. Human senses are too dull to pick anything up."

"Pick what up?"

"I think we're hunting a snake." A very big snake. The odors he'd inhaled were quite unique and attributable to a rare species of Earth snake that produced the responsible chemicals in minute quantities. 

"Why would we want to hunt a snake?"

"Because it might start hunting us."

She stared at him. He stared back.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That was excessively ominous."

Wood cracked nearby, and Olivia yelped, throwing herself at the Doctor. The two tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over as gravity sent them down the sloped ground. They came to a halt with her on top of him. "A giant snake would've made more sound," he said.

"Oh." Her brows furrowed, and a mischievous smile spread across her face. "Doctor," she said, a slight purr in her voice, "I think I found _a_ snake."

"Excuse me?"

"That, or you misplaced your sonic screwdriver in your pants." She slid her hands down his body from his shoulders to his groin.

"That's a stick," he said, extracting a branch from between them. "But good job." He rummaged further and extracted a brown, striped python that had also gotten caught up in their fall. "This is a snake."

She screamed and threw herself off him.

"Don't worry, it's a baby." He let it try to wrap around his hand a few times before depositing it on a fallen trunk. Let's keep moving."

Olivia shuddered but stayed by his side. He suspected her constitution was stronger than she let on. Of course, he hadn't shown her the tarantula.

They hadn't taken more than two steps when the Doctor stopped again. "Do you hear that?"

Olivia tilted her head a little as she listened. "I hear dripping."

"Exactly." He dashed off to the northeast, pushing through a dense wall of foliage to reveal a pond about fifteen meters in diameter. A strip of dirt dry surrounded the pond, dry and bare as a layer of ash, as though the plants had retreated as far away from the water as possible, bunching together into an almost impassable barrier. As he stepped away from the opening he'd forced open, Olivia came through and gasped. She pointed at a track in the dirt, about a meter wide, leading from the jungle into the water.

"Snake markings," the Doctor said, bending down to smell the curving track. "Yes, same scent."

"I don't think we should hang around."

"Just one moment." The clacking was closer than ever, yet still soft as though coming from a distance. Now he knew the noise didn't originate from this island, but this pond was a clue. "Over that way." He pointed to the other side, where a collection of stones disturbed the shoreline.

The trek felt longer than it should have, doubtless because the Doctor was keeping an eye out for the massive snake as well, despite his outward nonchalance. When they arrived, all thoughts of that danger fled his mind as he realized the stones weren't natural. They were carvings, not unlike the large ones they'd seen approaching the island, but with crucial differences: they included a body as well as a head and were all of the same person, a man with flowing hair and a beard, wrinkles across his face indicating age. His body was that of a fish.

"Oh no," he said. Turning one of the figures in his hand, the fateful words Will had told him at the end of his long tale came to him. "The _Dutchman_ must have a captain," he repeated.

"What does that mean?" Olivia asked.

"It means we're in a lot of trouble." The Doctor dropped the figure back into the pile. "We have to get back to the ships. _Now_."


	35. Chapter 27: The Shadows of Greatness

**Chapter 27**

**The Shadows of Greatness**

"Don't use the knife unless your life depends on it," Olli had told Cameron when he returned. Truth be told, she wasn't sorry about his reluctance to resort to violence. Do no harm: that was the heart of everything she did as a doctor, and she did her best to stay true to that principle. It was hard, working for House, to determine the path of least harm. There were no good choices, sometimes.

Today, it was clear. Kill or be killed. Harm or be harmed. But you must do no harm, she thought, acutely aware that she had been in life and death situations before yet somehow, knowing she was facing a human made a difference. That one thought was enough. She hesitated, and by the time she raised the knife, the pirate was upon her.

His eyes were empty, ferocious but lifeless, like a fire. Staring into those dilated pupils, she saw her own terrified expression reflected back. Then the world went dark.

Her life didn't flash before her eyes, but the last two days did. She smelled perfume.

Things had seemed simple enough when Olli returned from his excursion above deck.

"Was his staff everything you hoped it to be?" she asked.

Olli shrugged. "His wife's was bigger."

Thankfully, she'd finished off the seltzer and had nothing to choke on. She should have been used to comments like that, having been around House, but there was something disconcerting about Olli's cheerfulness. Which wasn't to say he looked the morose type. He acted exactly as she'd expect if she'd met him on the street, with a slight jaunt to his step and a glimmer in his eyes. But that sort of ease in life shouldn't translate to being kidnapped by pirates, especially ones from the 1700s.

He cupped his hand against the door and pressed his ear close. Satisfied no one was outside, he strode over to her and removed the dagger from his terra cotta outfit. "Do you have any storage places in your chair?"

Cameron flipped up the left arm rest to reveal an empty compartment. "You think I know how to use that?"

He dropped the blade in and flipped the lid shut. "They're not going to suspect you. We couldn't fight our way out anyway. Using that's going to require intelligence, not dexterity."

"And all you've got is charisma?" She understood his point and dropped her arm back in place and felt like she'd put it atop an ant's nest.

Olli laughed. "You'll forget about it soon enough."

"Maybe if you gave me another massage."

"Do you know how sore my arms are?" He plopped onto the lower bunk. "You should get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow."

"A long day of captivity," she replied, but she knew that wasn't what he meant. Rolling herself over to the bed, she peered at him until he cracked up laughing.

"Ok, you got me. I 'let slip' that you're a doctor. Their alchemist wants to meet you. He's the guy who made all your drinks."

"Great, I can give him a few pointers."

"And maybe he knows some good mixers."

"You're impossible!"

"Nothing like a good party to get all your captors drunk in order to commandeer their vessel!"

But impossible or not, Olli knew his way around people. The alchemist was at their door before sunrise. She didn't know this at the time, their cabin not having a window, but she did know she felt as though she'd just closed her eyes when the pounding on the door began. "Ermmf," she groaned. Her head felt heavy as an anvil, and her brain insisted she'd been struck by one, but she managed to wake by sheer force of will.

Olli opened the door as she dropped into the wheelchair. The alchemist looked like a snake with limbs, sliding into the room wearing silken garments that glimmered like scales. Everything about him screamed length and no width, from the cloth that dropped along his figure in straight lines to the gelled down hair and goatee. His face could give a horse's a run for its money, and not just any ordinary house, a Kentucky Derby winner at that.

"I am Sepehr," he announced, predictably drawing out the "s" at the ssstart of his name. "What a beautiful visage you have," he said, playing his abnormally-long fingers along her cheek like Chopin at the piano.

"Thank you," she replied, deciding to try Olli's method today. Besides, tired though she was, she found it hard to remain irritable at people who seemed genuinely friendly.

"Come, let me show you my experiments, but first--" He produced a glass of seltzer with the flick of a wrist. Cameron could believe he had it hidden in his substantial, draping sleeves, but she didn't know how he'd managed not to spill it. Once she took the drink, he glided around her to hold the handles of her wheelchair. Her armrest bounced as he pushed her across the uneven floorboards, and she slammed a hand down a little too hard. "Relaxsss," Sepehr said, patting her on the shoulder. "I will try not to jolt you too much."

"Yes, that's kind of you." She sipped the water to hide her grimace. "What time is it?" she asked as he pushed her past the darkened stairway.

"Five in the morning, but who needs sleep when there's such incredible things to disssscover!"

They reached the end of the corridor where fumes drifted through a doorway of silk curtains. Cameron caught the whiff of honey and copper and ground-up grass. Wooden boards had been nailed up all around the room as shelves, one set at knee-height, another at the waist, a third at the chest, and a fourth above the head. The room itself was about ten by ten feet in size and filled wall-to-wall with all variety of bubbling beakers and containers of preserved... things. Each glass was held in place by a nailed-down ring of steel and secured with string.

"Are those dried newts?" Cameron asked, wrinkling her nose as she pointed at a jar across the room on the highest shelf.

"Yes," Sepehr replied.

"Are those human eyeballs?" Olli said.

"Yahya," said Sepehr dismissively.

Olli's jaw dropped. "Really?" For the first time, he looked a little sick.

"Yahya!" Sepehr yelled.

"How many people have you killed!" Olli exclaimed.

Cameron grabbed his arm. "Calm down!"

"He killed people and plucked out their eyes!"

"Yahya!"

"See?"

"I'm hearing him say the same thing!"

"What?"

"TARDIS translator!" Cameron pointed at herself. "I speak English, but I'm hearing him say 'Yahya'! So if you're hearing 'ja, ja' in German, I should be hearing the translated affirmative in English, but I'm not. He's calling someone's name."

Olli blinked.

"Besides, those are obviously pig eyes." She grinned.

Yahya dashed into the room, nearly crashing into the wall as he skidded to a halt. A man of substantial size, his waistline continued moving long after the rest of him had stopped, brushing again a bubbling beaker before snapping back into place with a bit of jiggling afterward. Standing at full height, his eyes were on the same level as Cameron's, though a turban gave him a couple more inches, making his head look like an upside-down muffin.

"Sorry, sorry, I know you wanted me to watch the brew but Niki spotted Portuguese Man o' Wars off our port, and I knew you wanted some tentacles." He removed a pouch hanging along his right side and handed it over. Sepehr flicked open the flap, took a glance, and nodded.

"Excellent. That is an acceptable excuse, Yahya, especially since the draught is not yet ready."

"Draught?" Cameron asked. "What are you brewing?"

Sepehr moved aside to reveal a bubbling cauldron of transparent liquid on the second shelf. "I call it the draught of living death!"

"Harry Potter?" Cameron and Olli said at the same time.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," they replied, glancing at each other.

"Odorless and tasteless, one drop, taken by itself or mixed into food or water, is enough to reduce a person's bodily functions to the point where they appear dead."

"Definitely Harry Potter," Cameron muttered.

"Or Romeo and Juliet," Olli replied, looking a little distant. "So romantic."

"They both died," she reminded him.

"In your English version."

"Aha!" Sepehr exclaimed. "Now it is ready." He pushed Cameron in front of it and dropped a box of empty vials on her lap. "Do me a favor and transfer the draught into these vials, please. The cork stoppers are between the dung beetle legs and the iron filings."

Olli peered at the two jars of tiny black bars. "How do you tell them apart?"

"One sticks to magnets and the other doesn't! Oh, Yahya, let me help you get that heavy box of broken glass all the way on the other side of the room down from the top shelf where you can't reach. Why are you so short?"

This is too easy, Cameron thought as she slipped the first vial of draught she filled into the other compartment of her wheelchair.

"Sepehr?" a soft voice called out from the doorway. Cameron nearly missed the vial with the ladle, but Olli pushed her hand into position at the last moment. As soon as she pushed the cork in, she turned her chair to see Niki enter with a bedraggled dove cupped in her hands. "I found DonyA."

"My goodness!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms up and causing the box of glass to fall on Yahya. "How in the Shah's name did you do that?" The dove flapped feebly in response to the gust caused by Sepehr rushing over to Niki's side but settled down as he began stroking her head.

Niki glanced at Cameron. "I have an affinity with birds."

"Yes, I suppose you do, little nightingale."

She tensed slightly. It wouldn't have been noticeable if she wore any respectable amount of clothing, but Cameron could see the movement of every muscle in her back. And everywhere else.

"Whoaaaa!" Yahya cried, still juggling the box to keep it from upending on him. Olli rushed over and steadied him before taking the box.

"She doesn't belong here," Sepehr said. "The fumes will make her ill."

"Would you spare some Golestan nectar?"

"Of course, of course. It is the jar to the doctor's left, third shelf. You know where the bowls are."

"Thank you." Niki approached Cameron with a smile. "Are you feeling better?"

"The seltzer helped." She nodded. "What happened to the bird? DonyA, is that her name?"

"Yes." Niki pulled out a ceramic bowl the size of her own palm. It was decorated with blue writing circling the rim. The liquid she poured into it was amber but flowed more like water than honey. Putting the dove by the bowl, she smoothed down some of her wing feathers before letting her start drinking. "You were unconscious--I am sorry about--"

"I don't blame you," Cameron said.

"That is kind, but my participation was my choice. Though I objected, I must take responsibility for my actions." She patted Cameron on the shoulder and pulled up a chair. "As I was saying, you were unconscious, but the blast from Singapore caused significant distress to the ship. We keep a dovecote aboard the ship--it is stocked with birds from every port we've visited from here to Bandar-Abbas so we can send messages to our contacts. Several cages broke open during the turbulence, and the birds escaped."

"But DonyA isn't a messenger pigeon," Cameron said.

"Exactly. We keep her for different purposes. She is very much a friend, and we feared she'd been blown away by the winds of the explosion. However, she found her way home."

"Sounded like you somehow called her back," Cameron said.

Niki pressed her lips together for a moment. "That would be quite magical."

"Which you're implying is impossible without actually saying so."

"I've seen many things I thought were impossible."

"But you're misdirecting me without lying."

She shrugged. "Maybe."

"You really should put on more clothes." There was a thud behind her as Olli almost tripped.

"I appreciate your concern, but this crew is like family."

"But it's demeaning--"

Niki drew herself up. "I choose to wear these clothes. I find it comfortable. Nobody is forcing me to wear these outfits."

Cameron didn't say anything. She was wondering whether she had jumped to conclusions too fast when Niki added, "You must admit, wearing less is more comfortable in this climate so long as you are careful about the sun. Perhaps you would like to take off--"

"No, no, I'm fine, thank you!" Cameron said, throwing up her hands as Niki reached toward her shirt.

"But these flames, they make the cabin so stuffy."

"Now you're just toying with me."

"Maybe."

"Can't you ever give me a definitive answer?"

"Perhaps these answers make sense to me, and it is your own perception that prevents you from understanding."

Cameron corked another vial and slipped it into an iron holder. Putting down her ladle, she looked Niki in the eyes and said, "Then help me see things from your perspective."

Niki poured a little more nectar out for DonyA. "When I was a child, my father told many stories. He's not on board--I know you were going to ask, but refrain from questions for now. There will be answers this time. Bousseh and Kouros are not the only relations aboard, and as I said before, we are all close as family, but I alone did not grow up on the Caspian. I am the only one with no ties to this crew by blood or by law.

"My father is a powerful man and wealthy beyond imagining, yet he did not have any say over my departure. On the eve of my thirteenth birthday, he made a tragic mistake. To explain that, you must know the tale of Cyrus the Great."

"I do. I took an elective in Persian history in college."

"Of course. You are learned and speak our language well."

"That's not-- well, suffice it to say, I probably know enough."

"If you have studied history, you have seen the trends. Great people rise, civilizations thrive, and then they fall. Over and over again, the glory and the decline. Nowhere has this been more evident than in Persia, which thus far endures to remember our legacy. We have seen not one but two men who shook the world to its foundations. We have conquered and been conquered, assimilated a thousand different cultures, yet our root traditions remain unbroken. Strings of greatness run through the empire, and their power binds us to the past and the future, no matter how much our present conditions change.

"Persia is lucky. To others, we might say we are favored by a higher power, but the truth is that anyone with a grasp of history and the world knows we have simply had an unusual run of powerful leaders, and in the end, it will end.

"Do you know why? To define greatness, it must collapse into defeat. We are faced with choices. We can choose to cry out defiant and seize the world by the neck, knowing we do so facing our own mortality, or we can choose to live forever and stagnate, gloating in our own existence and knowing nothing of the universe.

"We chose greatness. We will always choose greatness. It is a curse. It is a blessing. It is us. But sometimes, it must be tempered by wisdom, and we must know when we reach for too much. My father learned this lesson in the most painful way, but I consider my accident a fortunate thing, for it prevented greater tragedy, and he will not make that mistake again.

"Which brings us back to the eve of my birthday. He faced... challenges and sought divine intervention. When he could not find answers in the Qur'an, he turned to older traditions. He summoned a djinn to grant his wishes, but you cannot control a wild djinn and the ancient arts of binding them are lost--a good thing, in my opinion, for it was wrong to do so. The djinn was evil and escaped.

"I stayed up late that night because I was excited for the celebrations the next day. Unable to sleep, I wandered the halls of my home and became the first living being the djinn encountered in its flight. Thinking my youth made me a good vessel, it took possession of my body, but I've been told I am unusually strong-willed. I resisted. It could not take over, and perhaps instinctively, I knew something so evil could not be released back into the world. The conflict sent me into a trance that lasted five months."

"Niki, I'm sorry for interrupting. Far be it from me to challenge your beliefs, but that sounds like an explanation for a serious medical condition."

"In all those months, no one touched me except to turn me and clean me and feed me. I have never had a significant relapse. The worst physical symptom I have experienced is minor trembling, like when you're cold. The djinn is still within me now." She paused, studying Cameron for a reaction and finding none. "It speaks to me, shows me visions sometimes. When I saw you and your friends for the first time, I saw things, more intensely than I ever had before."

"I noticed you shaking," Cameron said. "But that--"

"--is not a medical condition. I told you I have seen impossible things." A sly smile crept onto her face. "I will even submit to any tests you wish to administer. My father called the best physicians after I woke. You will find nothing wrong with me. If anything, you will find me more healthy than expected; the djinn protects me from physical illness, fearing it is so bound to me that if I perish from anything but old age, it will die with me"

"I will take you up on your offer." Cameron hesitated. "What did you see when you met us?"

"A shadow falling over everything. Time tied in a knot. The moon shattered. A blue box."

Cameron's eyebrows went up a little at the last item. "Sounds ominous."

"The djinn tends to see life's darknesses, but I find ways to interpret its skewed view. I've learned a lot from it."

"So your father believed you were possessed and exiled you?" Cameron asked.

Niki burst out laughing, causing DonyA to flap her wings in surprise. "I'm starting to think you have a djinn in you as well, you are so quick to assume the worst. No, my father loves me very much. My departure was my decision. I spent a year with the Zoroastrian priests, learning calming techniques to focus my mind. The djinn's chances of seizing me are greater when I lose control of my emotions. Once I had learned to do so, I began prying into the djinn's memories. Thinking me young and immature, it let slip more than it intended. I learned about future events that required my immediate presence in Bandar Pahlavi. There, I met the crew of Mashghul e, this vessel."

"Niki!" Sepehr exclaimed. "The draught is burning! Stop distracting the doctor!"

"She's bottled enough to knock out the entire court in Shiraz," Niki retorted.

"I want to take out the whole city!" Sepehr whined.

"That's enough stories for now. I apologize for throwing so much philosophy at you, but between my education and the djinn, I find that if I do not impose silence upon myself, I will speak until everyone is sick of me."

"Your outlook on life is fascinating," Cameron replied. "But you promised to answer all my questions, and there's a burning one in my mind."

"Which is?"

"Who is your father?"

She scooped up the dove and placed her on her shoulder. "I hope we will become friends. For that to happen, I fear his identity must remain a mystery."

"I've found honesty is the best course."

"Honesty at the wrong time is as bad as a lie."

As she departed, Olli dropped into the chair she'd left behind. "I agree completely. If she admitted right now that she wants to be more than friends with you, that probably wouldn't go over well."

"What?" Cameron said.

But at that moment, the cauldron squealed and began melting, preempting Cameron's impending interrogation.

After the cleanup, the rest of the day consisted of Sepehr quizzing her on the medical properties of all 3,758 ingredients on board. In truth, they only got through about a tenth of them, but she didn't think Sepehr would forget to follow up in the days to come. She did convince him to move a number of bottles onto the deck for their discussions and spent half the day being pushed around by Olli, learning the names of various crew members when Sepehr had to go back below to retrieve new ingredients. Niki had locked herself away with Kouros and Bousseh plotting who knew what, and she only saw her again briefly at suppertime when she said hello and ran off again.

They met Farrin, a thief who'd once raided the Shah's own treasure vault. She was Jannat's sister, and the two made quite a pair with Jannat towering over everyone and Farrin tiny and lithe. Farrin vanished into shadows, and Jannat made them (then beat up the rogues who hid in them).

Later in the day, there was a sparring match between Omeed and Akbar. Omeed stuck to his staff, but Akbar was unique in that his mustache extended four feet in both directions and was braided to be as thick as Jannat's arm. Foregoing all weapons, he used his mustache to beat opponents down. After losing, Omeed explained that when in battle, Akbar spiked the braids with razor blades, so although he exercised incredible control over his attacks, it was still best to stay far away during a fight. Then he grabbed Olli, and they went off to train with Jannat.

Navid was the navigator who liked to tinker with machines with Yahya and Bousseh in his free time. Marmar was the expert on all things combustible and joined the crew with her husband Jafar after burning down a marketplace. Jafar was the son of Kouros, and he was the cook, which was good because he alone had the authority to ban Marmar from the kitchen. Unfortunately, there was another source of open flames: Sepehr's lab, but she had a deal with Sepehr to stay away as long as he provided her with Greek fire whenever she asked.

And there were many others, but Cameron had a hard time keeping track of everyone between remembering which species of mushroom was poisonous and finding a way to explain that Sepehr had discovered penicillin two hundred years early without screwing up history.

Night came as a minor relief from the blazing tropical heat, but she was so exhausted she didn't linger. They found a bath waiting for them in their room and took turns washing before turning in. Cameron fell asleep immediately but not before thinking that for the first time in days, she was looking forward to tomorrow.

So of course, she woke the next morning to screams and Omeed kicking open their door.

"What's going on?" she asked after falling out of the bed. Omeed picked her up and dropped her in the wheelchair. Then he tossed a smaller staff to Olli.

"Stay behind me unless you want to find out how much you've learned," he said. "We're under attack."

Olli caught the staff and started pushing Cameron with his other hand. As they reached the door, the far wall exploded, sending them flying into the hall amidst a burst of wood scraps. She glanced back and saw half the upper wall was gone.

"Hey, we have a window now," Olli said as he helped her back up. Blood trickled down his face, but the cut along the upper cheek looked superficial.

"Damn Chinese," Omeed growled.

"Why are the Chinese attacking us?" Olli asked.

"That's not the right question," Farrin said, descending the stairs three steps at a time. She unsheathed two daggers as she landed in front of them, one in each hand. "The right question is 'How do we kill the Chinese so we can live to ask why they're attacking us?'"

Omeed grunted and sidled past her to return above deck. Farrin pointed down the hall with her left dagger, and Olli took Cameron that direction. Halfway down, the door to their right opened and Jafar gestured for them to enter. The three of them ducked into the kitchen and shut the door behind them.

"Normally I'd object to babysitting," Farrin said. "But a thief doesn't brawl, and you--" She ran a finger down Olli's chest and then down some more. "You are no baby." She leapt backward in time for Jafar to push a table between them and barricade the door.

Cameron rolled herself to the window--a real one, not one made by a cannonball--to peer at the approaching vessel. It had just passed the Mashghul e and was turning to make another pass, this time closer than before. "They're getting ready to board us."

"But why?" Olli asked. "I know they're pirates, but that ship's smaller than this one!"

"Ships shouldn't be out here," Jafar said. "The port we're heading toward is too small to be of interest to ships at a major trading hub like Singapore. But currents go toward it. The only reason ships would head for it--"

"--is if they were damaged and drifting toward a place to repair," Farrin concluded. "The Chinese are preying on survivors."

"How would they know what happened to Singapore?" said Olli.

"They wouldn't," Jafar replied. "Assuming anyone got a bird out, we're still less than halfway there. They couldn't have reached us in time because you can't send a pigeon to a ship at sea."

Farrin scowled. "Someone tipped them off."

"Well, they're in for a surprise, because we're not damaged." He reached under the stove and brought out something that looked like a harpoon. Only then he lit a match, put it against the blunt tip, and ignited a pilot light.

"Is that a flamethrower?" Cameron asked.

"I love being married to Marmar. She's such a fiery woman."

"Is it a good idea to set that off inside the ship?" Olli said.

"We have flame retardant on the walls," Farrin explained. "A necessary precaution that comes in handy sometimes. Oh, and Cameron might want to move away from the window."

Cameron pulled on her wheels, moving backward. "Why?"

"Throw!" a muffled voice called from above. A number of glittering objects arced across the diminishing distance between the ships. They flashed all the colors of the rainbow as they fell, and then a bright light shot forth, accompanied by a snap, and they flew apart.

The Chinese pirates standing at the railing ready to swing across collapsed screaming. A tinkling sound like marbles falling on pavement played against the kitchen window, and cracks appeared across the glass panes.

"Glass shards tied to firecrackers," Farrin said. "Enhanced firecrackers."

"So that's what Yahya was doing with the glass yesterday," Olli muttered.

"Ship that size, show a few claws and they should flee," Jafar said.

He was wrong. The ship turned, but it angled for the Mashghul e.

"Incoming!" Farrin cried, pinning Cameron and her chair against the wall. The other vessel struck them near the kitchen. The window shattered, pots and pans flew across the room, and Olli and Jafar grabbed a nearby rack that was bolted to the wall to keep from tumbling away. Wood creaked and groaned as the two ships ground to a halt beside each other, rocking back and forth.

Then the hull of the other ship opened. Panels slid aside, revealing pirates ready to leap through the holes they'd blasted in the Mashghul e's side.

"Camel's lips!" Jafar cursed, pressing the trigger. A jet of flame roared through the window into the other ship. As men went down, they heard footsteps from the hall, and the barricade shuddered as men pounded against the door. "I can't hold off both sides. Change of plans!"

"We have solid choke points here!" Farrin protested.

"Thieves don't brawl!" Jafar snapped. "Go!" At that moment, the upper half of the door shattered. Jafar swung the flamethrower toward the newcomers but not before the closest pirate got a musket shot in. Blood burst from Jafar's shoulder, but he ignored the injury, stomping toward the entrance with the gas valve opened fully.

Farrin unlatched a nearby pane of metal and pulled it open to reveal a dumbwaiter. Together, she and Olli lifted Cameron's wheelchair into the shaft and leaped in. There was just enough room left for Jafar, who sent one more wave of fire into the Chinese ship before climbing in and hitting the release on the weight.

The dumbwaiter launched upward, and Cameron was afraid they'd crash into the top, but deceleration kicked in before her thought was complete, and they slid to a smooth halt. They exited into Kouros' planning room. No one was around, but they could see people fighting outside. Jafar ran to the door, kicked it open, and let loose a semi-circle of fire. "Stay here!" he said as he stepped onto the deck. Beyond him, Cameron caught sight of Akbar wrap his mustache around someone's torso and toss her over the side while smacking a second pirate across the temple.

He had left for less than a minute when a pirate spotted Olli trying to close the door and ran for them. Olli dodged inside and as he followed, Farrin stepped out from behind and slid one dagger into the base of his neck. The pirate crumpled without a sound.

"That is how a thief fights," she said as she wiped the blade clean. At that moment, Niki ran in.

"Can you take another one, but knock him out this time?" she asked.

Farrin nodded. "Sexy man, go be bait again."

Olli rolled his eyes and obeyed. This time, Farrin caught him in an arm hold and tilted his head until he lost consciousness from lack of oxygen. Throwing him across the table, she kicked the door shut. "All yours."

Niki placed her hand against his forehead. His eyes snapped open, and Cameron and Olli both moved to grab him, but Farrin grabbed both of them by the collar.

"Don't interrupt," she said in a hushed voice.

The man began shaking, and his eyes rolled into his head. All four limbs flailing like a puppet in a gust of wind, his skin grew pale and a red glow appeared around him, an aura that shimmered with waves of light like the aurora. When Cameron looked more closely, she saw the light encompassed Niki too, faint all around but growing stronger near the hand she had in contact with the pirate. It was as though she were the source of light, and it cascaded from her like a waterfall to pool around the man.

She pulled away, and he fell still. Farrin glided over and snapped his neck before Cameron could voice a protest.

"Was that necessary?" she said. "He was no threat."

Farrin grabbed a pendant hanging from the body's neck and snapped it loose. "Do you see this insignia? It is the symbol of the Sea Dragons, a pirate clan that flays its captives alive for fun. We may be pirates, and we may appear ruthless, but we do not take killing lightly. But in this case, a quick death is more than any of our attackers deserve."

"There is more," Niki said. "I confirmed my suspicions. They are possessed."

"So they weren't tipped off."

"The ones who attacked Singapore wanted no survivors. Looks like their reach is greater than we guessed."

"That explains why they're fighting to the last man."

"I must bring this news to Bousseh." Niki slipped back out into fray, no weapon on her at all. After what Cameron had seen, she suspected she didn't need physical weapons.

"Still don't believe in djinns?" Olli asked.

"I don't know," she replied. "It's not high on my list of priorities right now."

"Put it one spot lower," Farrin said. She pointed toward the dumbwaiter, which was belching black smoke. Closing it reduced the output, but a lot continued leaking through.

Olli knelt down and put a hand against the floorboards. "No heat. The kitchen isn't burning."

"They're smoking us out, and it's going to work." Farrin peered outside. "Looks clear for now. Guess Sepehr's acid spray did the job."

The thief led the way, and Olli pushed Cameron out. Her eyes were watering from the smoke, and the blaze of sunlight outside didn't help. The other two must have been having the same trouble because they didn't notice an attacker sneak up until he was almost on them. Farrin threw one of her daggers into his raised arm, slowing him long enough for Olli to knock him down with his staff. That left no one holding Cameron's wheelchair, and at the same moment, the other ship detached from the Mashghul e. The entire crew had thrown themselves aboard, leaving no one to keep the ships together. The deck tilted, and Cameron was rolling away before she could catch the wheels.

She screamed as the railing rushed toward her. The impact threw her upward, but she caught the bars in time to keep from going overboard. Falling back onto her seat, she spun the chair around in time to find herself alone. More pirates had cut off Olli and Farrin, and the next closest friendly face was Kouros who was near the wheel, scimitar flashing as he fended off two opponents.

One pirate noticed her. She had the dagger in her armrest. She knew he was ruthless. He was a Sea Dragon. He was possessed, his eyes like an arsonist's fire, lifeless and burning with someone else's hatred. She couldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself to take a life, and he was upon her. She flinched, eyelids pressing shut, but the expected blade didn't come. Nothing ran her through, tearing flesh and muscle and overloading her nervous system with pain.

Cameron opened her eyes and saw blood, but it wasn't hers. Just inches away, Niki stood in front of her, a sword protruding from her back. The pirate pulled the sword out and blood followed in a gushing fountain. Niki fell to her knees, and the pirate stepped around her, raising his blade for Cameron's killing blow. One moment he was in control, and the next he was dead, his guts spilling out through a rend in his abdomen. Cameron didn't remember the killing slash, but the dagger was in her hand, and she knew she had moved.

There was no time to worry about her actions. Dropping the blade, she slid out of the chair to kneel beside Niki. Olli and Farrin arrived only seconds late but too late nevertheless.

"Allah have mercy," Farrin said, applying pressure to the front as Cameron did the same to the back.

"It's not enough," Cameron said, her mind racing. Then she remembered. "Olli, keep pressing down here."

When he took her place, she reached for the other armrest. Removing the vial she'd stolen, she pulled out the cork and poured the contents into Niki's mouth. To be honest, Cameron knew it wouldn't take effect in time, but she had a glimmer of hope. She too had seen many impossible things.

The bleeding slowed almost as soon as Niki swallowed, and Cameron knew she hadn't lost enough blood to die yet. She let out a ragged breath.

Sepehr ran up to them, though Cameron didn't see where he'd come from. "What happened? Is she all right?"

"Is your lab safe?" Cameron demanded.

"Yes, the threat is contained. I-- did you give her the draught of living death?"

Olli cut in before Cameron could reply. "Yes, I've been stealing items and hiding them in her wheelchair. I told her when the battle started in case she needed them."

"You di--" she glanced at Olli, but there wasn't time to argue these points. "Get Niki down there, have Jafar boil water to sterilize any medical equipment you have: needles, blades, stitches. The draught slowed the bleeding, but we don't have much time. I need to sew her up now!"

To their credit, the others reacted immediately. Olli lifted Niki up while Farrin maintained pressure on the wounds, and Sepehr rushed below deck to prepare for the surgery. Cameron climbed back into the wheelchair, and Omeed arrived in time to carry her down.

The next hours passed in a blur. The cut of the blade was clean, but it had damaged many organs. The equipment the Persians had was remarkably close to what Cameron could've expected in a modern hospital, and Sepehr and Yahya both had medical training. She didn't bother to question how they'd come by such advanced knowledge. All she felt was gratefulness and a fear that it wouldn't be enough.

Five hours later, the surgery was complete. As far as she could tell, it couldn't have gone better, but Niki's chances of survival were still low. The setting sun, the blood and bodies everywhere, the smell of charred flesh, they all compounded her feeling of doom. Every time she heard the splash of a Chinese body hitting the water, she wondered if Niki's would follow. At some point, Sepehr and Yahya disappeared to rest. Olli came by, trying to get her to do the same, but she ignored him, and eventually he gave up.

When Sepehr reappeared, he informed her it was noon. She must have fallen asleep at some point because she didn't remember so much time passing, but she couldn't remember waking up either. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Niki still wasn't breathing, but Sepehr put a hand on her shoulder.

"I gave her another dose, smaller this time. We need to ease her out of the sleep or her blood pressure will rise too fast and kill her."

Cameron nodded. "I should've thought of that."

"You would have if you got some sleep. I'll track her dosages, you go rest. It'll be days yet before she wakes."

"I'm sorry," she said to Niki, touching her hand for the first time since the surgery. Flecks of blood dropped from Cameron's fingers like dust. That was when she noticed a silver chain wrapped around Niki's limp fingers. She moved her hand over it, shifting the links enough to see it was a necklace with an anchor pendant.

"Olli came by and left it. A prayer for good luck," Sepehr explained. Studying her, he said, "No one blames you. Truly, it was not your fault."

"But you're all under orders from some mysterious person."

"Niki is bound by no orders. Our... benefactor wouldn't dare."

Cameron gave him a questioning look.

"I know she doesn't want you to know. Sometimes she is so secretive I think she is ashamed."

It was a cliche out of every legend, but Niki had as good as admitted the Persians lived in one. "Her father is the Shah."

Sepehr didn't answer, but he didn't say no. She turned the chair, and as she reached the door, he said, "If you have the strength, Kouros and Bousseh would like to speak with you. They are in your room."

Of course, she thought. When she arrived, the hole from the cannonball was still there, and the breeze was hot and humid and salty. Olli sat on the lower bunk while Bousseh sat on the chest, back facing the ruined wall. Kouros leaned against the doorway and gave her a tight smile as she rolled past.

"I hope you're not too tired," he said. "We won't keep you long. We've moved beds into our map room, and the two of you may stay there until we reach Persia."

Cameron raised an eyebrow. "Thank you. That's kind of you."

"And now for the other issue," Bousseh said. "We knew you stole Omeed's dagger and Sepehr's draught. We set you up to do so."

Olli shrugged. "Nevertheless, we had a choice."

Kouros' eyes narrowed. "In your position, I would've done the same. Don't pretend--"

"I'm not pretending anything, I'm merely pointing out your side of the argument."

"Why would you let us steal them?" Cameron asked. She knew the answer--years with House made it hard not to understand how to manipulate people--but she didn't want them to know that. "Those were dangerous items."

"You planned on an escape attempt," Kouros answered. "Better to deal with known quantities. If we'd guarded you too well, you might have tried something desperate. No one wants you hurt, and that is the point. We are your captors, but we don't have to be enemies."

"We are grateful for your actions during the battle," Bousseh said, though she sounded like she was getting her teeth pulled. "And we recognize them to be sincere. As a result, we will be sincere with you. Must we continue to play these games?"

"You've met us," Kouros added. "You will continue to be among us, though you will be watched if you don't accept our offer. We hope we've proven we are honest people."

"So if we say we promise not to escape..." Cameron waited for their offer.

"You get free reign on the ship. We will train you to defend yourselves. You may carry weapons on you. We trust you as one of our own. If you are not ransomed by the time we reach Persia, you must stay with us, but so long as you do not leave our established boundaries, which will be lax, then the same applies."

"That's... a generous offer for two words."

"Why?" Olli asked. "I mean, why did you kidnap us in the first place? Who is your benefactor and what has he offered you? If you're such generous and honest people--which I'm mostly willing to accept from what I've seen--why turn to piracy?"

Cameron nodded. Understand a person's motivations and you could figure everything else out. The question was, would the pirates tell them?

They did, and when they were done, Olli and Cameron both said, "I promise." They meant it.


End file.
